Envisioning The Adult I Want To Become

SO SOAKED yang jungwon

nerdy ravenclaw!jungwon x popular slytherin!fem reader

A/N : this will be my first full fic ! I hope you enjoy <;33

SYNOPSIS: All schools have their cliques right? Right. Whether they’re a public school in America or a Wizarding school in England, everybody has their place. You, fortunately, were the ‘it girl’ as some say, you could have anyone you wanted, and anyone who’s anyone wanted you. Accept him, Yang Jungwon, the only boy you’ve ever wanted since your first year, yet ironically, the only boy who’s never wanted you. 

EST WC: 10k

WARNINGS: SMUT (MDNI), alcohol use, unprotected sex (how silly of them!), Heeseung is a little sexually aggressive, slight slut shaming, drug use (only weed), semi- public sex, possessiveness, unrequited pinning, strangers to ???

TAGLIST (open): I will be checking all accounts for ages! ADD YOUR AGE TO YOUR BIO!!!

SO SOAKED PLAYLIST

Everybody at Hogwarts knew the name ‘Hwang y/n’, and if they didn’t? Well, clearly they’re due a trip to the infirmary. Ever since your first year at the infamous school you’d been in your brothers the spotlight, you’ve always been surrounded with ‘friends’ though you only truly trust a handful of them, most of them are pure meat riders… You’re not surprised that you’ve always been the centre of attention, being from one of the most prestigious families of the wizarding world, yet sometimes, only sometimes, you wished you weren’t so well know, weren’t always crowded with people, attempting to take advantage of you and your societal position. Of course, it came with its perks, you barely got into trouble at school, teachers were rather scared of your family’s not so subtle connection to the terrorising death eaters. You always got your way, no matter what, everyone did your bidding. And what you find to be the most enjoyable perk, the boys. Wherever you went within the school, a boy was always tailing you, trying to get into your pants none the less but who said that was a bad thing? How else would you have gotten yourself into this situation..?

Jake Sim, hogwarts golden boy, Grade A’s across the board, teachers pet if we’re being honest, currently leaning on his headboard, eyes lulled, lip between his bottom teeth to suppress his unholy noises as he watches you practically choke on his cock. Who would have thought the same boy who placed top of his class again last year would have a monster cock yet not know how to use it! Many people had deemed it impossible to sleep with Jake, he was always reserved and turned down anybodies advances, but impossible wasn’t in your vocabulary.

“f- fuck oh my god, Heeseung was right you do have a holy mouth,”

Your eyes snapped up at that comment, movements stilling, leading the boy to let out a groan, attempting to push your head further onto his cock.

“Come on yn, don’t be a kill joy, suck.”

That was what made you snap, pulling off of the now groaning boys dick,

“listen here Sim, I don’t know who you and your creepy friends think you are talking about me, but I’m leaving.”

You stormed out of the dorm, pulling on your sweater as you trudged down the cobblestone stairs to the ravenclaw common room, ignoring the boys protests calling after you. You stopped at the bottom of the stairs, fixing your hair as to make yourself presentable before being faced with Jakes roommates. You didn’t know who they were, you didn’t care either but you knew they’d be waiting to go into the room as it was 1AM yet Jake had wearily left a sock on the dorms door handle.

Fuck.

Out of all people he was the person you’d least like to see right now, of course one of Jake’s roommates would be Jungwon. You were trying to sleep with Jake to keep your mind off the boy who was currently staring at you doe eyed across the room. Jungwon, the only boy you’d ever truly been interested in, ever since first year you’d tried to make a move on him yet to no avail, he never seemed to have any interest in you at all! As the boy stared at you with a perplexed look you smiled, slightly biting your lip as to surpress your embarrassment, bowing as you made your way toward the door.

“Leaving so soon ynnie? Was hoping I could join you two later, get another taste hah,”

Heeseung voiced as he entered the common room, smirking, making his way towards you.

“Fuck you Heeseung,”

you snapped, not having the mental capacity to deal with his shit. You felt the tall boys hands find their way towards your hips, pulling you back to whisper into your ear.

“Come on yn! You’re such a slut I know you want another round with me hm?”

“Heeseung stop,”

you warned, eyes darting anywhere but the boy who watched your interaction with a slight frown. You watched from the corner of your eye, Jungwon leave his spot on the couch, ‘don’t go now!’ You silently begged as you felt Heeseungs hard on press firmly on your ass.

“Heeseung she clearly doesn’t want your crusty dick,”

You felt Jungwons soft hands pull you away from the, now irritated Heeseung, pushing you lightly out the dorms door, quietly following before leaning on the oak door. A comfortable silence settled between the two of you before he finally broke it, turning his body slightly towards you,

“Are you okay, yn?”

Just him saying your name made you want to drop to your knees and worship the ground he stood on,

“Yeah thanks won, also, I didn’t sleep with Jake you know,”

The boy smirked at you, raising his eyebrows and nodding slightly, clearly unconvinced,

“Sure you didn’t,”

You laughed shortly at his reaction before shifting your body closer to his,

“Really, I didn’t, I was going to sure but he was being a dick, it was pissing me off,”

Jungwons amused look stayed painted on his face, chuckling again before leaning back against the tall door. His head hung back against it, slightly turning to face you,

“Think that’s just dirty talk ynnie,”

You shook your head once more, assuring the boy that hes just a massive dick, pretending his nickname had no effect on you.

“You should go to your dorm, before Filch catches you,”

You nodded at the boy, pushing yourself up from your position leaning on the door, quietly bidding him goodbye before turning to walk back to your dorm,

“Night ynnie, sleep well,”

“Yn come on this is your chance!”

Karina repetitively tapped your arm, attempting to go and thank Jungwon for what happened at his dorm, trying to convince you that he’d definitely fold if you were all ‘my night in shining armour’ with him. No way that’d work, she did not know Jungwon, neither did you really but that’s beside the point. Yizhou had joined in now, shaking your arm as if it’d help convince you,

“If I go and talk to him, will you stop touching me,”

both girls pulled their arms up in record speed, nodding enthusiastically at your offer. You sighed, begrudgingly getting up though deep down your mind was circling with images of all the different reactions Jungwon could have to your comment. He was sat on his own in the great hall, head in his potions textbook, stirring a bowl of muesli with his finger, you didn’t realise he was so skilled in charms, or with his fingers,

“Hey won,”

You chimed, sitting down opposite him. His head moved up to look at you, eyes shortly following to look in your direction. Jungwon preferred you like this, with your uniform on, no cloak though, your hair was styled neatly, resting on your shoulders and your face hid a subtle rosy hue, you looked more like you, not like the act he swears you only drop when conversing with him, he wasn’t complaining,

“Hey yn, you okay?”

He sent a half smile your way, one hand holding his textbook open, the other still entertaining the bowl of oats and fruit that sat between the two of you,

“I just wanted to thank you for yesterday, I don’t know what I’d have done if you weren’t there,”

Jungwon smiled, sighing slightly as he watched you lean onto the table, one arm laying across the oak while the other curled around your hair, you tucked your lip underneath your teeth slightly, sending a smile his way, you could share you saw him swallow and poke his cheek with his tongue at your actions,

“It’s no problem, they’re my friends but I can admit they’re dicks,”

you nodded at the boy, slightly brushing his arm with the hand that lay across the table watching as he chuckled at your seemingly innocent action,

“Anything else yn?”

he questioned, wondering what else you could have up your sleeve,

“Was just wondering, is there anything I can do to thank you?”

There it is. Jungwon laughed, hand abandoning his breakfast to bring it to your face, tucking a loose hair behind your ear, relishing in how your face turned a pinkish colour at his touch, only he had that effect on you, only him,

“Ynnie, I’m not going to fuck you,”

Your eyes widened at the boys words, stumbling over your tongue in an attempt to justify your offer,

“NO- no I don’t mean- no like anything, some soju or something I don’t know,”

your voice got quieter the more you spoke to the boy, a blush now finding it’s way to your ears,

“You really wanna thank me?”

you nodded eagerly at the boys question, his hand still placed on your cheek. He pulled it away, bringing his attention back to his food,

“Stop failing transfiguration,”

You sighed, accepting defeat before pulling yourself up from the table,

“If you ever want your thank you, I’ll be here,”

you finally stated before scuttling away back to your table with your friends, probably telling them all about the interaction between the two of you, Jungwon revelled in the fact that you could have anyone you wanted in this school, yet you always wanted him, cute.

Anybody within the right mind hates potions, it truly was the worst subject. Could anybody really find sitting for an hour listening to Snape drone on about Dittany anything but excruciating? Jungwon could, clearly. The way he sat, looking at the professor with such intent made your heart swell. You’d always admired the way Jungwon was so serious about his schoolwork, you wished you could be as bright as him, but you had more important things to focus on! Him. Snapes voice brought you out of you daze, completely souring your mood,

“It has come to my attention that a few of my students are failing, and we cannot have that can we! Now if I call your name please take this into account, Nishimura Riki, Jeong Aran, Hong Eunchae, Song Eunseok, Lee Sohee, Yizhou Ning, and Hwang yn,”

You looked at the girl beside you, both grimacing at the fact you were failing yet another subject. Yizhou fell dramatically into your lap, groaning about how her dad would kill her, you pat her head reassuring her it’ll be fine, though you aren’t completely sure yourself,

“Right! Time for you to make your own Dittany potions, you know the drill partner up!”

You and Yizhou stood up, collecting your belongings before making your way towards a work bench. As you reached the workspace you heard a draining voice from behind you,

“No, no, no, no, no! You two are not working together again! Not after last time, and you’re both failing. Yizhou you work with Sunghoon, Yn you work with Heeseung,”

Your heart dropped at the boys name, Yizhou looking at you in surprise while trying to bargain with the stubborn professor. As Heeseung made his way towards you, his face dripping with arrogance, you just wished you could slap some reality into him.

“Well well well yn, we meet again! You know, I could help you not be such a failure, gonna have to work for it though,”

He smirked, voice laced with false charm. You declined his offer, obviously, going to collect everything needed for your potion while also attempting to spend as much time possible away from the draining boy.

Jungwon had noticed Heeseung and you from the minute he made his way over to your bench, warily watching the way you reacted to the boys snide remarks. As soon as you left to collect your ingredients, he took it as an opportunity to save you from the situation. Making his way to Heeseung, Jungwon attempted to justify why he was helping you so much, landing on the fact that it’d be fun to cockblock his big headed friend once more. “Hey man, would you mind if I work with yn instead? I really need to talk to her, it’s important,”

Heeseung grimiced yet complied, not wanting to argue with the stern faced boy. Letting out one last sigh, he collected his things and made his way over to Jungwons previous place next to Sunoo. As your figure made its way closer to the workbench Jungwon could swear he felt his heart beat quicker, it was just you? “Wonnie? What are you doing here?”

you questioned while wrongly arranging the supplies for your potion, not so accidentally brushing against Jungwon in the process,

“Just thought you wouldn’t want to work with Heeseung after, well you know,”

he admitted, turning away from you as to bask away his slight blush, what was wrong with him! It was just you. You moved closer to the boy, trapping him close to you by placing your hands on the counter either side of him, leaning impossibly closer to quietly mutter,

“That’s so thoughtful won! You’re just so nice hm?”

Jungwon chuckled, taking your hands into his before placing them onto your chest,

‘It doesn’t mean anything ynnie, I’m just not a dick!”

You nodded at the boy, eyes slightly widening with skeptic. The two of you worked on your potion until the end of lesson, conversing ever so often though Jungwon was not good at replying to you, completely focused on your concoction, maybe his studies sometimes got the best of him. As the bell rang, signalling the end off lesson, you turned once again toward the boy,

“Any plans for the weekend Wonnie? Will I see you at the dorm party?”

Jungwon chuckled again at your advances, nodding lightly before modelling your previous actions, trapping you between you and the counter, taking hold of the test tube rack behind of you,

“It’s either that or smoke weed for hours on end with Jay and Sunghoon so yeah, I’ll be there,”

You looked down, flustered at your close proximity as you felt the boy pull away and grab his bag before finally patting your head,

“See you later ynnie!”

“Oh my god ynnie, if you wear that he’ll for sure fuck you,”

Aeri was convinced that Jungwon would be tempted by you in the skimpy black dress, having slipped it into your decision making process a good 3 times so far.

“no he won’t! He’ll just think I’m a whore..”

Karina let out a chocked laugh at that, explaining that if he was going to think that of you, he already would having seen you in and out of his dorms a good 6 times this term. You groaned, sliding off of your bed onto the hard floor, letting your eyes close as you composed yourself to face Aeris’ menacing look once more. Finally opening your eyes you were caught off by Minjeongs face directly infront of yours,

“WEAR THE DRESS YN!”

your eyes widened at the outburst from the usually composed girl, damn this dress must be a horcrux or something?

“If Min approves of it then you have to yn,”

You sighed, finally giving into defeat as you snatched the dress from Aeri. As you made your way to the bathroom to get changed you warned the girls that if you don’t look good it’s all their fault.

-

“Oh my- if I were Jungwon I’d fuck you, that’s all I’m going to say,”

you giggled slightly at your friends heart eyed reactions, you had to give it to Aeri, the dress was gorgeous, it hugged your body in all the right places yet it still left a good amount to the imagination. The five of you sat doing your hair and makeup, one at a time getting changed and having dramatic reactions to one and other, Rina fell off her chair more than once….

“The party starts at 11 so get there 11:45? We cannot be the first to a griffindoor party, well probably be mauled!”

Yizhuo warned as you finished straightening her hair. Minjeong told her that she was being mean and that some Griffindoors were actually normal. You sometimes wondered how you became friends, being so different, yet you loved her all the same.

“Eugh! Why is the floor so sticky?”

The Griffindoor dorms were always your least favourite place to be, for some reason they all had some kind of weird hatred for you, you weren’t actually a deatheater yourself! You turned to Karina as she debated on which boy to go for tonight,

“Oh! What about him he’s so hot!”

you laughed at the girls reaction, you’d think she was choosing which lolly she wanted, not which dick. You told the girl who her chosen cock was, dragging her over in his direction,

“Hey Hao! Have you met my friend Karina?”

you smiled watching the two gravitate closer and closer to one another, another perk of being well known! You scan the room looking for Jungwon though he’s nowhere to be seen, maybe he was smoking pot with his friends after all. You felt a tug on your waist, hoping it would be won, it wasn’t.

“Hey yn, seems the universe just wants us together hey? You gonna lemme hit yet?”

You make a disgusted face at the boy, attempting to push him away. He tightly pulled you back towards him, tightly gripping your hips. He pulled you into him, pressing your head onto his shoulder while his hands stayed secure around your hips, one of them subtly moving to your ass. You rolled your eyes as you slightly entertained the boy, dancing with him though not liking the way his hands roamed your body. Heeseung brought his hands to your face, closing his eyes as he pushed his puckered lips to your persed ones. “Heeseung stop!”

you muffled, trying to push away from him though to no evail, the boy only kissed you further, pushing his tongue into your mouth with no rhythm at all.

“Fuck- stop resisting yn! Just fucking take it,”

As you were about to attempt to push the boy once more, you felt his presence get ripped from next to you. Heeseung groaned at the sight of his younger friend, knowing he was fucked.

“Come on man, just let me be!”

he pleaded, watching Jungwons stern look become impossibly more irritated. He took that as his sign to walk away, not stopping himself from slapping your butt as he passed you. After avoiding eye contact you finally looked into Jungwons eyes, yours filled with embarrassment and his worry with a hint of anger. “Sorry won,”

You mutter, stepping closer to him as you watched his eyes soften at your words,

“Yn, you don’t need to be sorry, it’s him who’s a dick,”

you nod lightly, expecting the boy to leave you after one final remark. As your eyes flicker to the ground between the two of you Jungwon took your silence as an invitation to take your hand into his, pulling you into an open area of the dorm. A small balcony, secluded from the rest of the party yet entirely exposed to the remainder of the castle.

You watched as Jungwon sat him self in the chair placed in the corner of the balcony, pulling out a cigarette, quickly lighting it before pulling it between his lips. You leaned yourself back on the railing of the terrace, your body turned towards the sitting boy. Jungwon noticed your stare quickly (he was looking at you too) and he brought his cigarette up to you as if to offer it, you shook your head lightly before turning to look out at the school grounds.

After a few minutes of silence you heard Jungwons cigarette drop to the floor, followed by his foot crushing any remaining ashes. The boy stood up and made his way over to you, placing his hands either side of you before leaning next to your ear,

“Are you okay now?”

you shuddered lightly at the feeling of his hot breath on your neck, leaving any hairs to stand on end,

“Yeah, I’m okay now, thanks wonnie,”

Jungwon felt his heart tighten, the way you said his name, turned to face him and sent your signature smile, it all made his heart flutter. The boy hummed as his hands made their way down your body, feeling the fabric of your dress while his eyes racked your figure,

“Like this,”

he muttered, his hands tugging lightly at the fabric that clung to your body, You smiled up a the boy, hand making its way to the back of his head, pulling it closer to yours,

“Why don’t you take it off then?”

that was all Jungwon needed, he immediately crashed his lips onto yours, teeth lightly nipping at your bottom lip, forcing your mouth open to rhythmically dance his tongue with yours. The boys hands found their way quickly underneath your dress, hooking his fingers on your panties, grazing his fingertips against your core before stilling his movements all together,

“You sure about this?” he questioned, panting while his knee pushed its way between your two legs, you harshly nodded, looking up at the boy. Jungwon sighed against you,

“Gotta use your words princess,”

You groaned as you begrudgingly chocked out a,

“P-please,”

Jungwon felt his cock grow even more at the sound of your soft yet hourse voice,

“Hmm please what?”

You groaned again at the boys teasing, bringing your hand to his hard on, rubbing him through his pants. Jungwons eyes widened as he unintentionally bucked his cock into your hand,

“Please, fuck me Jungwon,”

You tell him confidently, watching as the boys smirk fell again at the feeling of you palming him while pulling his pants down to a midpoint on his thigh.

“F-fuck yn!”

he breathed out, head falling and eyes rolling back as his mouth hung open, ever so often groans slipping out while you continued your actions. After some times of palming Jungwon through his boxers, you slowly fall to your knees infront of him, revelling in the way his eyes grew with anticipation. The two of you made eye contact as you painstakingly slowly pulled his underwear down to reveal his cock. Jungwon had to look away after some time,it was all getting to intense.

“Look at me,”

you ordered, snickering as you watched Jungwons trembling face meet yours, chest rising and falling as he tried to calm himself. You remained in eye contact with the boy as you started to place light kisses against his tip, tracing the veins up and down his shaft with your tongue. You felt jungwons hand creep around to grab at your chin, positioning your mouth at the tip of his dick, letting out a chocked,

“f-fuck, yn please just- fuck,”

You finally took his dick into your mouth, looking up at him through your eyelashes as his hand made its way to your hair, pushing you down on his cock, forcing a gag out of you which just made him buck into you harder. You continued to suck his cock, ever so often pulling away to fixate on his tip, spitting on it as his whines got bigger and higher,

“g-gonna cum, you gonna swallow it? be good for me yeah baby?”

you nodded against his cock, wetness growing between your thighs at the nickname. Jungwon pushed your head against his cock a few more times before finally letting out a low groan, shooting his load down your throat. You swallowed anything in your mouth, opening your mouth to show the boy who was still recovering from his intense orgasm. The boy pulled you to your feet, kissing you once again as he put his dick back inside his trousers,

“My friends will be wondering where I am, I’ll talk to you soon ynnie,”

you smiled at the boy, watching as he opened the patio door, quickly disappearing behind it. What had just happened? Had you seriously just given Yang Jungwon the suck of his life then let him disappear back to the party? Well, at least one thing was for certain, he owed you.

“YOU’VE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME?”

Sunoo screamed at the top of his lungs,

“You’re telling me, that THE Hwang Yn just gave you the suck of a lifetime and instead of repaying the favour, you disappear into the fucking night?”

Jungwon looked that the boy, pulling the joint from between his lips. He smirked slightly before admitting,

“Yeah? I mean she’s always ogling me and I suppose she can put her mouth to good use?”

Jungwon stifled a laugh as the boys jaw dropped,

“You don’t understand how lucky you are Jungwon, yn doesn’t want people, people want her, she’s fucking obsessed with you!”

Jungwon shook his head at the older boys words, explaining that he’d rather focus on his studies rather than ‘some girl’. “Jungwon, she isn’t some girl! She’s like gold!”

jungwon rolled his eyes once more, inhaling another drag of the blunt between his lips,

“You seem to be fucking in love with her, you go after her if you want her so bad,”

Sunoo simply shook his head, laughing at the boys words before snatching the joint from his hand,

“I would if I could Won, she only wants you though, I’ll catch you later man, gonna go and see if i can find Riki,”

Jungwon waved his friend goodbye, tapping out the blunt and making his way back to his dorm, it didn’t mean anything between the two of you did it? Sunoo was being dramatic, you weren’t obsessed with him, just wanted to sleep with him, right?

4 days ago you gave Yang Jungwon a blowjob, yet he hasn’t ushered a word to you, nor has he even looked in your direction. You even made the effort to go up to him in the library, asking him if he was having a good day, yet the boy looked at you, rolled his eyes, and walked away. You were determined to make sure that you being on your knees for him was not your last interaction.

“Hi Sunghoon!” you called out, silently laughing at the way the boys eyes widened at your voice, he greeted you back, moving his studying materials out of your way as you sat on top of his table,

“So, you know the dorm parties each Friday?”

Sunghoon hummed in agreement, looking up at you with anticipation,

“Well, I was hoping you guys could host it this week! I feel like I haven’t been there in ages,”

you winked at the boy, hoping it would remind him of the time you spent together in his dorm. It did.

“Oh! Yeah sure ynnie, anything else?” you shook your head at the question, hoping off the table before winking at the boys flustered face and toddling back over to your waiting friends,

“bye hoonnie!”

As you walk through the ravenclaw dorms you feel Karina tug on your sleve,

“Ynnieeeee, come on he’s probably in his dorm come and have some funnn,”

you laugh slightly at the girls drunken state, waving her comment off as you continued to scan the room for him. You slightly registered Jisoo wandering away from you, probably towards some guy, not acknowledging it though as finally spotted Jungwon and his friends in the corner of the common room. You were about to go and talk to him when you realised, you gave him head? He should come to you, a real gentleman would be eager to return the favour!

-

As the night went on Jungwon was yet to approach you, he knew you were there, you’d made eye contact, he just wasn’t making the effort. You’d danced with a fair share of boys, though none of them interesting, sometimes looking over at Jungwon only to see him staring daggers into the back of the random ravenclaws head who happened to be letting his hands wander lower and lower before you pulled away. But when you looked over, the boy was already preoccupied with one of his friends, as if he didn’t just look like he could kill. You stood for a while, wondering if this was all worth it, if he was worth it, worth all of your time when he can’t even look at you on his own acord.

Suddenly a pair of hands found their way to your waist, turning you around to meet his eyes, his eyes. “Oh hello,” you contort, “finally came to talk to me?”

You watched as Jungwon stuttered, slightly taken back at your boldness,

“Well my friends told me to so,”

Oh. It wasn’t that he’d finally decided to talk to you, it was his friends. You know that you probably should push him away right now, tell him to just fuck off. But it’s Jungwon. “Well,” you mumble, draping your arms around his neck, “you still owe me wonnie!”

Jungwon smirked, he knew this was coming,

“Oh really? What exactly do I owe you hm?”

You smirked at the boys change in attitude, though it was whipped off of you face as you felt the boys hot breath against your neck, the smell of alcohol, cigarettes and weed lingering off his person. Your breath hitched as he leaned into your ear,

“What do you want in return hm? Want me to fuck you? Want me to use my fingers? I always see you staring at them so it wouldn’t surprise me,”

you swallowed harshly and watched out the corner of you eye as Jungwons tongue peeked out and brushed against his lip,

“I- I don’t know,”

you muttered, sinking deeper into yourself as the boy let out a chuckle,

“You know, you act so bold yet as soon as I talk to you you crumble, so cute,”

you felt as the blush that had set itself on your cheeks the minute Jungwon approached you grew a darker shade as crimson, letting out a whine only loud enough for Jungwons ears at his teasing,

“Come on ynnie, just tell me what you want,”

Jungwons hands tightened their grip against your hips, pulling you impossibly closer towards him, hoping you could feel his cock against your stomach. Your eyes rolled back at the contact, head flopping down onto his shoulder,

“Just want you,”

You felt Jungwons deep chuckle down your ear and before you could comprehend you were being dragged up the dorms stairs into his room. As soon as the doors shut you felt Jungwons body pressed against yours, leaning on the door. His lips slowly traveled down your neck as he unbuttoned your shirt, stopping momentarily to suck harsh marks into your neck. As you let out a pathetic moan Jungwon peeled your shirt off your body, swallowing harshly at the sight of your lace-clad tits. “You’re so hot,”

He mumbled out, letting his lips find yours again before nipping at your lip, leading to you letting out a raspy moan. Jungwon took the opportunity to slip his tongue between your lips, licking against your own as a mix of your saliva began dripping out of your mouths. Never had anyone made out with you so messily and it was going straight to your core. As Jungwons hands wandered to the zipper on your jeans your hands found the hem of his shirt, silently begging him to take it off so that you wouldn’t be the only person undressed. Jungwon pulled away to fling his shirt above his head and discard it across his shared dorm. You took the opportunity to shimmy down your jeans leaving you in your underwear only.

“Fuck,”

Jungwon breathed out, he knew you were attractive but under the dim blue lighting of his dorm you looked ethereal, no way you were real.

You felt as the impatient boy pulled you towards his bed, flopping against it before pulling you against him. You giggled slightly at his movements, shifting slightly to straddle the boy, leaving your hands on his chest.

“So,” he started, “Can I eat you out?”

You were taken aback, out of all of your hookups no boy had ever asked if he could eat you out, you’d always had to ask them or it didn’t happen. You looked back at Jungwon, heart softening at his glazed over eyes,

“You want to eat me out?”

Jungwon laughed lightly at your question, how could he not? You were beautiful how could you not taste like heaven?

“Yeah of course, do you want me to?”

you could hear the hesitation in his voice, indicating that he was really hoping you’d say yes, cute.

“Fuck yes please,”

The bewildered look on the boys face was quickly replaced by his signature smirk, guiding your hips up as he pulled down your panties, revealing your perfect pussy to him.

“Can you, um, can you sit on my face?”

oh my god. No way Yang Jungwon has just asked you to sit on his face? Why was he so perfect? No other boy had ever wanted you to do that, ever. You avoided his eyes before mumbling,

“I mean, no one’s ever asked me that and I don’t want to hurt you!”

Jungwons eyes widened, no one had.. what! He hooked his hands around your hips, pulling you until you were hovering above him. “Trust me,” he muttered, mesmerised by the way your folds were glistening, “you’re not going to hurt me baby,”

you let out a moan at the nickname, feeling Jungwon reach up and lick between your folds,

“So wet and I’ve barely done anything, sit.”

Your head leant back at the boys harsh words as you hesitantly sat until you could feel the boys breath against your core. Clearly though, that wasn’t enough as Jungwon pulled you down against his flat tongue moaning at the feeling of you against him. You instinctively grinded against the boys tongue, hand shooting towards his hair to tug and pull as you please.

Jungwons tongue plunged in and out of your cunt, relishing at the noises leaving your mouth. His nose bumped perfectly against your clit, letting you let out a moan of his name and a harsh pull on his locks. Jungwon let out a moan at your actions and let his hand wander to your free one, holding it firmly. The feeling of him moaning sent strong vibrations throughout your body, leaving you grasping at his hair again, pulling his hand to rest against your thigh. Jungwons movements sped up, frequently getting egged on by your moans of his name and tugs of his hair,

“Jungwon please, oh my-, gonna cum f- fuck!”

Jungwon moaned again at your words, actions speeding up as he brought his free hand around to rub quickly against your clit, feeling your cunt clench as a collection of spit and arousal spilt down his chin. You started fidgeting away from his mouth as your overwhelming orgasm approached, forcing Jungwon to abandon your clit and hand to pull your thighs firmly against his mouth. All it took was one final bump of his nose against your clit for you to be spazzaming around his tongue, cum dribbling down Jungwons chin and into his mouth. He licked against you a few more times before pulling you off his face, taking a few deep breaths before getting up to go to his sink, washing off his face. “Any good for your first time?”

he teased, giggling at your fucked out face, you nodded, still in post-orgasm bliss. You felt the bed beside you dip and Jungwon sat next to you, he pulled your face towards his before leaning close, placing a kiss on your lips,

“Still want me to fuck you?”

You let out a groan, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you clambered atop of the cocky boy. Jungwons eyes widened slightly at your boldness, his ring clad hands finding solace against your hips.

“Of course I do Wonnie, you know, since you made me cum so hard, why don’t you chose how you want to have me?”

you whispered the last part down his ear, making sure to send your hot breath his way in the meantime. Jungwon let out a deep chuckle, bringing his hand to your pussy, teasing at how wet you were again, the mix of your cum, arousal and his spit still lingering,

“How about, you ride me? Think you can do that baby?”

Before you could answer him, Jungwon was lying back against his headboard and leading your hands towards his zipper, he was painfully hard now, not ashamed to admit he very nearly came untouched at the mere taste of your pussy. You fumbled down his zipper, laughing slightly as he lifted his hips to pull down his pants. You shifted slightly so that you were sat directly on top of his bulge, both of you hissing at the feeling, to test the waters you grided slightly against him, though shocked when Jungwons cold hands stilled your movements,

“As much as I don’t want to stop you pretty, if you keep doing that I’m gonna calm before I’m even inside of you, need you now baby,”

You laughed once more at the boys desperation, lifting your hips to pull his boxers down and set his hard cock free from its confinements. Jungwon let out a hiss as the cold air hit his cock, mumbling again how he just wanted you. Not wanting to tease the boy any more you lifted your hips, positioned him at your entrance and sank down onto him. Jungwon let out a hiss at the feeling, eyes rolling backwards and jaw going slack,

“Oh my god- so fucking tight yn, if you keep sucking me in like that no way I’ll last long,”

you moaned at the boys confession, squeezing harshly around him just to hear him whine again. He was so fucking hot. You felt as Jungwons hands held your hips, pushing you up off of his cock before slamming you right back down again. The feeling of his cock dragging deliciously against your walls had the both of you groaning and whining. You continued the ministrations, bouncing up and down on his cock as he pulled you closer to him, pushing his lips hard against yours. “Fuck,”

you muttered against his lips, a burning feeling starting to creep into your thighs. As you continued bouncing on his cock you could feel your movements slowing, the burning of your thighs becoming too tired to continue,

“Jungwon, can’t do it- fuck- help please,”

Jungwon let out a deep groan, not warning you before flipping you over onto your back, keeping his cock nestled inside of you while hovering above you. Jungwons movements had stilled, his hand coming to pull your lips apart, he leaned closer to you, letting a glob of spit travel from his mouth to yours, you immediately swallowed it, letting out a moan at the feeling of his saliva dribbling down your throat. “Such a good fucking girl,”

he muttered, dragging his cock out of you until it was just the tip left inside. He lent down to kiss you before slamming into you, keeping a relentless pace as he pulled his face back to watch your face contort at his actions. “I- fuck fuck fuck fuck Jungwon I’m going to cum ohmygod,”

The boy laughed once more, his hand that had previously parted your lips, making its way down to your clit, as he continuously flicked your bud he relished in the way your cunt tightened against him, whining again as he felt his orgasm creep up on him. You reached your hands round to his back, scratching deeply as you felt Jungwon hit your g-spot one last time. You let out an outrageously loud moan as your orgasm came over you, the feeling of your cunt pulsating around his dick sent Jungwon into the same euphoric feeling as he shot his load deep into your cunt.

Jungwon kept thrusting into you shallowly, riding out your orgasms before pulling out and flopping on top of you.

“I- I should probably walk you back to your dorm, Jake’ll want to come to bed soon so, you get it,”

You nodded at his words saw the boy pushed himself off of you and went to grab a wet cloth, he cleaned off the two of you, pulling on a pair of his own underwear and pyjama pants before turning his attention to you. “You can wear some of my clothes, I don’t mind I just want you to be comfortable,”

you smiled softly at the boys words, nodding while sitting up and smiling at him. He helped you into some of his boxers, a pair of socks and a T-shirt that traveled below your knees. The boy pulled another shirt over his head before he mumbled,

“I’ll walk you back, who knows who’ll be wandering at this time of night, the parties well over but I’m guessing some people will still be looking to get off,”

You laughed slightly at his comment, nodding as you went to stand up. Much to your avail though as the minute you went to stand your legs felt as though they’d turned to jelly, you wobbled slightly before you tumbled back and hit his bed. (Sorry if this is a bit inaccurate, unfortunately I’ve never been fucked hard enough that i couldn’t walk :( ben take notes) Jungwon let out a soft chuckle at your actions,

“I really fucked you that good?”

you rolled your eyes at the boy, telling him that he shouldn’t get to cocky and that you were sure he was putting up a fight not to crumble onto the floor, you weren’t wrong. The boy disregarded your comment though, opting to turn so his back was facing you, prompting you to jump onto his back. You did you, wrapping your arms and legs around your torso while leaning your head against his shoulder. Jungwons hands clutched your thighs before trudging out of his door and down the stairs, choosing to ignore Jake’s high taunts.

Before you knew it you were at your dorms, you had told Jungwon that you’d be fine to go in on your own though he disagreed, opting to take you all the way to your dorms door. “I’m not gonna come in because, well, I don’t think 4 girls waking up to me glooming over the, would be a good luck,”

you laughed at the boy, leaning up to leave a kiss on his cheek.

“Good night Won,”

he leant down and kissed your temple,

“Good night Ynnie,”

“So you’re telling me, you fucked her and now you’re ignoring her? The fuck is your problem man?”

Jungwon knew that telling his friends would be a mistake, so he opted to tell Sunoo, trusting him to not tell the others… rookie mistake.

“No! I am not blanking her, she wanted to fuck and we did so? I’m not going to make the effort to talk to her when she got what she wanted.”

Jay rarely spoke during these group discussions, so when he let out a taunt and Jungwons idiocy the others took it and ran.

“Jungwon you’re supposed to be smart, she’s obsessed with you,”

the boy stood up abruptly and went to leave the great hall before turning swiftly and snapping,

“She is not obsessed with me.”

Why do they keep saying that? Why would you be obsessed with him? In all honesty Jungwon wished you were obsessed with him, but you obviously aren’t! You just wanted to fuck him to show you could have anyone you wanted right? Right. A part of Jungwon wishes he hadn’t slept with you, hadn’t helped prove that you really could have anyone you wanted, but the other half of him hasn’t been able to make himself cum since without thinking of your cunt.

-

Jungwon sat on his own at lunch, he was still angry about his friends comments, and he had a lot to revise, though his ‘subconscious’ sat him right where he could look at you across the room. His ‘subconscious’ also kept stealing glances at you, laughing silently at the way your nose scrunches when you eat something you don’t like and how your eye smiles create creases next to them when you laugh. As people began to finish their food the hall stared to clear, leaving about 20 students per table, also meaning Jungwons stares could no longer be hidden.

Once he’d finished his food Jungwon began packing his things, standing to go to his class before he was abruptly met by your face. “Hi won! How are you?”

Your hair was breaded today and you wore glasses, maybe you’d ran out of contacts. Your hands were adorned with rings and bracelets as they fidgeted with the hem of your skirt. Jungwon was pulled out of his trance when the way you said his name in a sing song way met his ears,

“You got what you wanted yn you can drop the act,”

he huffed out, walking to his herbology lesson. Your expression dropped as he walked away, did he really think that’s all you wanted? A good fuck? Maybe you were wrong about Jungwon, maybe he is just a dick.

“You should flirt with some guys infront of him, see if he’s really as unbothered as he says he is,”

Minjeong let out a laugh as the five of you walked to the Hufflepuff dorms,

“Rina that is so dumb, you’re not seriously considering that are you yn? Are you?”

You avoided her eyes before bursting into a laugh, explaining that as dumb as it was, Jungwon was a boy, and all boys get jealous! Also, 4 against 1?

“Good luck is all I’m going to say ynnie!”

She laughed as you all walked into the dorms, splitting off to mingle. You opting to walk around with Aeri,

“What about the new boy? If you were his first fuck you’d definitely have him wrapped around your finger,”

you chuckled in disbelief at the girls comment,

“You know Aeri, you make me sound like such a bitch….. but honestly real,”

You bid farewell to the girl before making your way towards the lost looking boy,

“Hey I’m yn! You’re new here right?”

the boys eyes widened at your presence, stuttering slightly before mumbling,

“Y- yeah I’m Jaehyun, Myung Jaehyun, it’s nice to meet you,”

you giggled at the boys nervousness, taking his hand into yours as you began to walk around the crowded room. As you made your way to the drinks table you poured a rather strong one for Jaehyun and yourself,

“Oh I uh, I don’t really drink,”

you furrowed your brows at his comment, bringing the solo cup to his hands,

“Come onnn, it’ll be fine it’s just a bit,”

You watched as Jaehyun eyes flickered between your eyes and the cup, and occasionally your boobs, he gulped slightly before taking the drink into his hands, swigging some back, groaning at the bitterness,

“See,” you clasped your hands, “it’s nice right?”

The boy chuckled, letting out a staggered,

“It’s alright,”

The two of you continued to wander around the room, talking about nothing in particular, and as you finished your drink you turned towards him, arms draping around his neck and his found solace on your hips. “You know,” you stared, “you’re really hot,”

the boys eyes widened, muttering out a thank you, letting his thumbs dip into the waistband of your low rise. “You’re really hot too, like really hot,”

you giggled at Jaehyuns shyness, letting your hand find his hair, pulling him closer towards you, one of his hands left your hip and made its way to guide your chin up towards his. You tilted your head slightly, making it easier for your faces to morph together, you felt his breath on your face as his lips ghosted over yours, finally pulling your lips onto hi-

“Yn,”

You both stop, faces turning towards the ominous voice, oh. When did he even get here?

“Yn can we talk?”

Jungwons face remained completely emotionless, bar from the occasional bite of the lip as his eyes stayed completely on you. “We’re kind of busy here man,”

Jaehyun grunted, clearly not appreciating the blatant cock block, Jungwons eyes met his instantly, raising his eyebrows with a smirk. You felt Jaehyuns hands immediately retract from you, muttering out a quiet, “guess I’ll just go then,” before quickly whisking away. Jungwons eyes met yours again, signalling his head away before walking in the direction of a corridor, prompting you to follow him. You did, obviously.

“You know Jungwon, you’ve got some nerve, this better be good!”

Jungwon immediately shut you off, lips pressing harshly against yours as he pushed you against the cobbled wall.

“F-fuck,” he mumbled through the kiss, “why were you trying to fuck him when I’m right her ?”

you laughed, pulling his face slightly away from yours, his cheeks in between your hand,

“Jungwon are you being for real? I tried to talk to you and you just insulted me and basically called me a slut!”

You watched as the boys Adam’s apple bobbed and his eyes slightly widened,

“Yeah I uhh, I’m sorry about that my friends were just teasing me about you so, I’m sorry?”

Your heart hardened once more at his words, he’d told his friends? Like Heeseung had? Had they spoken about you like they had before?

“What do you mean teased you Jungwon? Did you seriously tell them?”

you dropped your hand from his face, stepping away from him, how could he do this to you? You were sure there was something different about him, that your heart knew something about him you didn’t and that’s why you were always so drawn to him. But no, of course not.

Jungwon stared back at you, mouth opening and closing yet no words coming out. Sighing you turned to leave and maybe clear your mind when Jungwon finally reached out and grabbed your hand,

“I didn’t tell them ynnie, I told Sunoo and his big mouth told the others, and I promise they weren’t talking bad about you, they were just saying I was lucky and that you were uh, that doesn’t matter, but I promise, it wasn’t like what Heeseung did, I wouldn’t do that to you.”

Jungwon stared into your eyes, thumb sweeping over the palm of your hand and he silently pled you to believe him. “Hmm, okay won,”

He smiled lightly, pulling you into hug him, hands finding solace on your back. You patted his back, feeling the air slightly thicken as his lips started pressing lightly down your neck. Your feet naturally carried themselves backwards until you felt the cold brick of the corridor on your exposed back. Jungwons kisses began to get harsher, hands weaving around to brush against your hips, attempting to pull you closer to him. “Jungwon we can’t, not here someone could walk down!”

you felt the boys movements still for a moment, clearly contemplating, before he grabbed your hand and pulled you harshly through the dorms and into the shitty one stall bathroom. You laughed in disbelief at where he’d taken you. The stall was lit by a harsh cool overhead light which accentuated the many badger wall hangings that graced the walls. The sink directly faced the toilet and the two of you could barely fit, having to hold your breath as not to touch the gross wall.

“Jungwon,” you started, “are you seriously going to fuck me in a one stall bathroom?” You laughed slightly at the situation, though it muffled out as Jungwons lips met yours again,

“Yeah,” his breath fanned against your neck as his hands rushed to unbutton your cropped shirt, “I’m seriously going to fuck you in a one stall bathroom, is there a problem?”

As he chuckled the last part he brushed his fingertips over your clothed nipple. You huffed and muttered a ‘n- no’ as Jungwon pulled your shirt off, letting it hit the floor. His hands danced down your body to quickly unbutton your jeans, his lips resuming against your aching body. As your pants hit the floor with a thud you pushed Jungwon away from you again. His eyes looked into yours in worry, searching for any signs of hesitation, though it was washed away when he felt your hands tugging at his jumper,

“I don’t want to be in just my underwear when your fully dressed Jungwon!” the boy laughed, kissing against your cheek before tugging his jumper over his head and disregarding it with your clothes. His lips pulled your attention back to him, biting your lip to grant him access to the rest of your mouth, his tongue licking against yours as your make-out turned messier by the minute. When your hands found the buttons of his shirt, Jungwon chuckled lightly. You were irritability groaning against him as the buttons just wouldn’t work with you. He pulled away from you, swiftly unbuttoning his shirt, all while giggling at your impatient tugs at his pants. As shirt dropped to the floor, Jungwons attention focused in on you once again. His hand pulled you into him, connecting your lips for the nth time thst night.

“Jungwon,” you mumbled onto his lips, “please!”

“Hm? Please what ynnie?”

You pathetically grinded against his leg, hands attempting to unbutton his jeans, accidentally hitting his ever-growing bulge. Jungwons breath hitched at the feeling, your fingertips on his clothed dick the last straw for him.

“Fuck,”

he muttered, his hands weaving around and hooking onto your thighs, he tapped against your ass, signaling for you to jump. You did, obviously, as a small yelp left your lips, the cool porcelain acting as a dramatic contrast to the heat overtaking your body as Jungwons movements became more desire filled. As Jungwons kisses traveled across your chest and neck you became more restless, wanting nothing more than to feel him, however he pleased.

“Fuck, I don’t have a condom, do you want to go back to my room?”

you shook your head against his shoulder, lust overtaking your conscience,

“I don’t care just please,”

you felt his hands find panties, fingertips grazing over the place you needed him most,

“Please what ynnie? I thought we’d established this hm? Use your words or you’re not getting anything,”

a low groan erupted from your chest at the boys tantalising,

“Please just fuck me Jungwon,”

Jungwon laughed into your ear, mumbling a “see how easy that way?”. You swatted away his smug grin, opting to push your leg between his thighs instead of putting up with his teasing.

“Hmm, you need me to prep you?”

He questioned, hand slipping into your panties, immediately shocked at the amount of wetness that soaked his fingers,

“clearly not, all this after a few kisses? You must want me bad baby?”

you whimpered again, begging him to stop his teasing. He complied, for once, hooking his fingers onto your panty line to tug them to the side, his fingers spread your entrance before slipping his fingers into your cunt. As he stretched you out on his hand, his other unbuttoned his jeans, pulling them and his boxers down just enough to pull out his dick.

“You sure about this?”

he questioned, all while rubbing his dick against your cunt, you groaned,

“yes I’m sure just fuck me Jungwon please!”

oh my god. Sure he’d fucked you once before but feeling you raw was a whole ‘nother level, sure it was a bad idea fucking you unprotected, and sure he would definitely regret it tomorrow, but oh my god. The way your eyes hit the back of your head as your nails clawed his back, the way you tightened around him with every stroke, and the way he watched hour tits bounce, still trapped in the confinement’s of your bra, made him feel like he could cum any minute.

“Jungwon oh my god, so- fuck- so big!”

you brought your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. As you felt his hand creep down to your clit you knew it was over for you,

“gonna cum Jungwon, can you cum with me- ah! Cum with me pleaseee,”

The boy chuckled, quickening his movements- the way you kept tightening around him, he was close too,

“keep doing what you’re doing baby I’ll cum with you okay?”

you simply moaned against his shoulder, kissing his neck hard enough you were sure to leave a mark. As you felt Jungwons toying on your clit quicken you knew the coil inside of you was about to snap, the way he was moving inside of you, the raw intimacy of it all, the heat your bodies were creating, the lewd wet noises coming from your cunt and he fucked you the best you ever had been, the sweat building up between your two bodies, the-

“oh my god,”

as you finaly let the coil inside of you snap, you felt Jungwon pull out quickly and release onto your stomach- plunging his fingers inside of your heat to ride you through your orgasm. As the two of you slowly caught your breaths Jungwon lent forward to whisper in your ear,

“Do you wanna hand out? Like, without my cock inside of you I mean? Like a date or something?”

you felt the heat creep back onto your cheeks, pulling away from him to look into his eyes

“Are you serious? Of course I would! It took you long enough to ask wonnie!”

the boy felt his heart start beating again as he lent in to kiss you with more passion than he had before, his hands wandering back around your body to grope your ass and pull you towards him. Just as your hand was about to grab his dick again you two were, rudely, interrupted,

“are you done in there I need a fucking piss?”

A/N : I FINALLY FINISHED IT!!!! so much has happened since I started this fix holy moly 😰 ANYWAY I hope you all enjoy it and PULEASE like reblog follow and comment (comments are my fave) so ik what to improve on next time and what you liked Abt my writing!! 🫶🫶

THE HEE FINGERING GIF ?!?!?!

i can post it forever honestly he looks so sweet and focused 💗

Park Sunghoon (the actor): I'm just like you!

Park Sunghoon (the idol): you're just like me!

Park Sunghoon (the actor): we have the same name and~

Park Sunghoon (the idol): hate mint choco!

Park Sunghoon (the actor): I like mint chocolate

Park Sunghoon (the idol):

Park Sunghoon (the actor):

Park Sunghoon (the idol):

Park Sunghoon (the actor):

Sunoo: I'M JUST LIKE YOU!!!!

cat and dog.mp3

Seungiee

𝐄𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄

⤲ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐋𝐞𝐞 𝐇𝐞𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

⤲ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐞!𝐀𝐔, 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝!𝐀𝐔, 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭, 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭

← 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 — 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 |

(A/N: I genuinenly can't believe I'm writing this but this marks the end of Poison. First of all I want to thank every single one of you for making this journey so special. The love, support, appreciation and praise you've guys have been sending my way ever since the very irst chapter has been nothing but overwhelming and amazing. I'm so, so grateful to have had the opportunity to experience this with you all and as we grew as a family I realised how comfortable and safe I feel on this blog. Especially knowing you guys have felt the same way with the daily updates snd have actually made them part of your daily routines is a memory i will keep close to my heart for as long as possible. i'm tearing up as i'm writing tjis bc i definitely have gotten super attached to my babies, yet am just as excited to start a new journey with you guys. With this, I'm not saying goodbye since I will provide you with lots of bonus chapters bur for now, it's definitely a a farewell. Thank you for everything babies, I love you. 🩷🧸)

(Here's the masterlist to my upcoming CEO!Jay SM AU "Strictly Business". Taglisg is already closed but it's the usual daily updates at around 8PM central european standard time!)

TAGLIST CLOSED: @soonigiri @thvhannie @enhaz1 @kpoprhia @abrazosolorcereza @deobitifull @mixtape-racha @certifiedmoa @jungwon-xo @hoonieluv @enhamysunshines @jaehoonii @pussyslayerhd @ineedsomezzz @neocockthotology @heerinnie @onionzzzs @hee-pster @3amstarlight @xxxxrvexxxx @primroselover @mimikittysblog @iea-tsand @lhspeachie @xiaoderrrr @viagumi @smg-valeria @kells5595 @heeseunghee7 @xrvrqs @ddazed-lhs @heebrry @fakeuwus @dammit-jjk @ivyannemarie @thekinkpopstandsforkrackheads @s00buwu

---

CHERRY TREES

arranged husband!Jungwon x trophy wife!reader - confronting cold arranged husband on your first anniversary.

ENHA HARD HOURS 18+ MDNI, Angst, fluff, a second chance, the smut is crazy im ngl to u but the angst is worse, he actually goes insane like insane he loses it.

-

The grandfather clock in the hallway chimed five times, its deep resonance echoing through the marble corridors of your estate. Without opening your eyes, you knew Jungwon was already awake. The mattress dipped slightly as he carefully extracted himself from beneath the Egyptian cotton covers, his movements deliberately gentle to avoid disturbing you. You kept your breathing steady, maintaining the pretense of sleep as you had so many mornings before.

Through barely-parted lids, you watched his silhouette move through the predawn darkness. Jungwon's routine never varied—not on weekends, holidays, or even the morning after your anniversary celebration when he'd had perhaps one glass of Château Margaux too many. Five a.m. meant feet on the floor, regardless of circumstance.

He disappeared into the expansive en-suite bathroom, closing the door with practiced quietness before the shower began to run. You rolled over to face the floor-to-ceiling windows, abandoning the charade of sleep. Outside, the manicured gardens remained dark and still, mirroring the atmosphere that permeated your mansion despite its immaculate decoration and luxurious furnishings.

One year of marriage. Three hundred and sixty-five mornings of this same choreographed dance.

By the time Jungwon emerged from the bathroom, you had straightened your side of the bed and donned your silk robe. He nodded in acknowledgment, a small smile lifting the corner of his mouth.

"Good morning," he said, voice pleasant but neutral. "Did I wake you? I'm sorry."

"No, I was already awake," you lied, the response automatic after months of repetition. "Will you be joining me for breakfast on the terrace today?"

He checked his watch—the elegant Patek Philippe you'd given him on your six-month anniversary. "I have an early meeting. I'll grab something at the office."

You nodded, expecting this answer. Despite your chef preparing an elaborate breakfast spread every morning, Jungwon rarely sat down to eat it. You'd long since stopped taking it personally, instead viewing it as simply another aspect of your peculiar marriage.

"Madame," came a soft voice from the doorway. Your personal maid stood waiting respectfully. "The blue gown has been pressed for tonight's charity auction, and Mrs. Yang called to confirm your appointment at the salon at two."

"Thank you. Please tell the chef I'll be down shortly."

Jungwon's expression softened momentarily with what might have been gratitude. "The blue gown is a good choice. It matches the sapphires."

The brief warmth in his eyes vanished so quickly you questioned whether you'd imagined it. He dressed efficiently, selecting the navy suit you'd suggested earlier in the week. You busied yourself reviewing the day's schedule on your tablet, giving him space while maintaining the illusion of comfortable domesticity.

"I'll send the car for you at six," he said, adjusting his tie in the mirror. Perfect Windsor knot, as always. "The auction starts at seven, but your mother-in-law suggested we arrive early to greet the host committee."

"I'll be ready," you assured him. "The blue complements the sapphires your family gifted me last Christmas—perfect for the society photographers."

He nodded approvingly. "Perfect. The Yangs must maintain appearances."

The phrase hung in the air between you, a reminder of what truly bound you together. Not love or passion or even friendship, but appearances. The Yang family name and reputation, upheld through generations and now entrusted to Jungwon—and by extension, to you.

Before leaving, he stopped at the bedroom door. "The new arrangement in the grand foyer—the one with the peonies and orchids. My mother asked for the name of your florist."

"I'd be happy to share their contact information," you replied, surprised that he'd noticed the flowers at all.

He hesitated, as if considering saying something more, then simply nodded and left. Moments later, you heard the soft purr of his car starting in the circular driveway below.

The suite fell silent, save for the continuing measured tick of the antique clock.

By eleven, you had completed your morning inspection of the household: reviewing the dinner menu with the chef, approving the landscaping plans for the east garden, and confirming that the linens for Friday's dinner party had been properly pressed. The mansion operated with clockwork precision under your supervision, a showcase of domestic perfection that visitors frequently praised.

Your phone chimed with a text message from Mrs. Yang—your mother-in-law.

The charity auction tonight is a perfect opportunity to connect with the Singhs. Their daughter returned from Oxford and has taken over their foundation. Jungwon could use their support for the new community project.

You typed a gracious reply, assuring her you would make the introduction. This was part of your unspoken role: social facilitator, network cultivator, the charming counterbalance to Jungwon's more reserved demeanor in public. Mrs. Yang had explicitly voiced her approval of your social graces during the marriage negotiations, though she'd phrased it more delicately at the time.

In the solarium, you sipped tea and reviewed correspondence on your tablet. The household staff moved efficiently around the estate, their presence indicated only by the occasional distant voice or the soft closing of a door. This cocoon of luxury and service had become your domain—a gilded cage, perhaps, but one you managed with impeccable skill.

The charity auction venue sparkled with crystal chandeliers and the gleam of expensive jewelry. You stood beside Jungwon, your hand resting lightly in the crook of his arm as he conversed with an important international investor. Your blue gown complemented the subtle blue in Jungwon's tie, a coordinated detail that Mrs. Yang had encouraged early in your marriage.

"And what do you think of the market's new direction?" the investor asked, unexpectedly turning to include you in the conversation.

Without missing a beat, you offered a thoughtful response based on fragments you'd gathered from Jungwon's rare comments about business. Your husband's arm tensed slightly beneath your hand—in surprise or approval, you couldn't tell.

"You've got yourself a perceptive wife, Yang," the man laughed, clearly impressed. "Better be careful or I'll recruit her for my advisory board."

Jungwon smiled, a genuine expression that transformed his handsome face. "I'm very fortunate," he agreed, turning to look at you with apparent pride.

For a moment—just a moment—the warmth in his eyes seemed real. Then a passing waiter offered champagne, and the connection broke as he reached for two glasses.

The evening continued in this manner: introductions, small talk, strategic conversations with selected guests, and the careful maintenance of the image you projected as a couple. Jungwon's hand occasionally rested at the small of your back, guiding you through the crowd with gentle pressure. To anyone watching, the gesture appeared intimate and caring.

"Your work with the children's literacy foundation has been inspirational," commented Ms. Singh as you were introduced. "My father is quite impressed."

You played your part flawlessly. Laughed at the right moments. Showed appropriate interest in business discussions. Made mental notes of important names and connections to record later in your planner. You orchestrated the introduction to the Singh family that appeared completely spontaneous, fulfilling your mother-in-law's request with such subtlety that even Jungwon seemed unaware of the manipulation.

During a lull in the event, you excused yourself to visit the ladies' room. Standing before the mirror, you studied your reflection: perfectly applied makeup, not a hair out of place, the picture of a successful young wife. Other women came and went, exchanging pleasantries, complimenting your gown or asking about upcoming social events.

"You and Jungwon always look so happy together," sighed a fellow socialite as she applied fresh lipstick. "My husband can barely remember which events are on our calendar, let alone coordinate his tie with my outfit."

You smiled politely. "Jungwon is very attentive to details."

When you returned to the main hall, you spotted your husband across the room, engaged in conversation with the Singh patriarch as you had arranged. His posture was relaxed, confident, his expression animated as he discussed something that clearly interested him. You rarely saw that expression at home.

As if sensing your gaze, he looked up and met your eyes across the crowded room. For a brief moment, something unreadable flickered across his face. He excused himself from the conversation and made his way to your side.

"Is everything alright?" he asked quietly.

"Of course," you assured him. "Mr. Singh seems interested in your project."

He nodded. "Yes, thank you for the introduction. He mentioned you'd spoken highly of the initiative."

"That's what wives do, isn't it?" you replied, the words emerging more wistfully than you'd intended.

Jungwon studied your face, his brow furrowing slightly. "Are you tired? We can leave if you'd like."

"No," you said quickly. "Your mother would be disappointed if we left before the final auction lot."

The mention of his mother was enough to settle the matter. Jungwon nodded and offered his arm again, leading you back into the social whirl. The rest of the evening passed in a blur of smiles and small talk, your practiced responses on autopilot while your mind drifted elsewhere.

The mansion was quiet when you returned just after midnight, though a few lights remained on for your arrival. The night butler opened the door as the car pulled up.

"Welcome home, Madame, Sir," he greeted with a respectful bow. "May I bring anything before you retire?"

"No thank you," Jungwon replied, loosening his tie. "That will be all for tonight."

As the butler disappeared, Jungwon turned to you in the grand foyer, its marble floors gleaming under the soft chandelier light. "Successful evening," he commented, his voice echoing slightly in the vast space. "The Singhs have invited us to their summer compound next month."

"That's wonderful," you replied, slipping off your heels with a small sigh of relief. "Your mother will be pleased."

He set down his keys and looked at you directly, something he rarely did at home. "You don't need to keep mentioning my mother. I'm capable of recognizing business opportunities on my own."

The unexpected sharpness in his tone surprised you. "I didn't mean to suggest otherwise."

He sighed, running a hand through his perfectly styled hair, disheveling it slightly. "I'm sorry. That came out wrong."

The apology hung awkwardly between you. Jungwon rarely expressed irritation, maintaining the same polite distance whether discussing dinner plans or household accounts.

"It's late," you said finally. "We're both tired."

He nodded, the momentary crack in his composure already repaired. "I have some work to finish. Don't wait up."

You watched him retreat to his home office, the door closing firmly behind him. In the kitchen, you found the chef had left a covered plate of small desserts and a pot of tea keeping warm. The thoughtful gesture—understanding your tendency to skip dinner at formal events—brought an unexpected lump to your throat.

The mansion was beautiful—spacious, elegantly decorated, with every luxury and convenience. The marriage looked perfect from the outside: handsome, successful husband; accomplished, supportive wife; respected families united through a beneficial alliance. You wanted for nothing material.

And yet.

Upstairs, your nightwear had already been laid out and the bed turned down. In the adjoining bathroom, you methodically removed your jewelry and makeup, the familiar routine requiring no thought. Your reflection stared back, younger without the carefully applied cosmetics but somehow sadder too.

When you finally slipped between the cool sheets, Jungwon's side of the bed remained empty. You knew from experience that he might not come upstairs for hours. Sometimes you woke briefly in the night to feel the mattress dip as he joined you, maintaining a careful distance even in sleep.

As exhaustion pulled you toward unconsciousness, you wondered—not for the first time—what thoughts occupied your husband's mind during his late-night work sessions. Whether he ever questioned the arrangement that had brought you together. Whether he ever wished for something more than this immaculate, empty performance you both maintained.

Outside, a gentle rain began to fall against the panoramic windows, drops catching the moonlight like silver tears against the darkness.

-

The first anniversary dinner had been your mother-in-law's idea.

"A small celebration," she'd said during your weekly tea. "Nothing extravagant, of course. Just family to commemorate the successful first year."

You'd nodded and smiled, playing your part. "I'll coordinate with the chef for a special menu."

A successful first year. The phrase echoed in your mind as you supervised the staff arranging peonies and orchids in the dining room—Jungwon's mother's favorites. The crystal gleamed under the chandelier light, the silver polished to mirror brightness, the napkins folded into perfect swans. Success measured in appearances, in business connections forged, in social obligations fulfilled.

Not in moments of genuine connection, in shared laughter, in the casual intimacy of a hand brushing hair from your face. Those metrics of success remained conspicuously absent from your marriage ledger.

"The wine selection has been brought up from the cellar, Madame," said the butler. "And the chef has prepared the appetizers exactly as you specified."

"Thank you," you replied, adjusting a place setting minutely. "Mr. Yang will be home by seven, and his parents will arrive at seven-thirty."

The butler nodded and withdrew, leaving you alone in the perfect dining room of your perfect mansion in your perfect marriage that was, somehow, entirely empty.

Jungwon arrived precisely at seven, as predictable as the sunrise. You heard the familiar sound of his car, followed by his measured footsteps in the foyer. When he appeared in the doorway of the dining room, he was already dressed in the suit you'd laid out—the charcoal gray Tom Ford that his mother once commented made him look distinguished.

"Everything looks lovely," he said, surveying the room with appreciative eyes. "You've outdone yourself."

"Thank you," you replied, accepting the compliment with practiced grace. "Your mother mentioned Mr. Kim might join them. I've set an extra place just in case."

Something flickered across Jungwon's face—annoyance, perhaps. "He wasn't mentioned to me."

"He's the family attorney. Perhaps there's business to discuss."

"On our anniversary dinner?" The edge in Jungwon's voice surprised you. "Some things should remain separate from business."

You studied your husband's face, wondering at this unusual display of emotion. "Would you prefer I call your mother and inquire?"

"No," he said, composure returning like a mask sliding back into place. "It doesn't matter."

But it did matter, and the tension in his shoulders told you so. This was new—this momentary crack in the facade. You wanted to press further, to understand what had triggered this response, but years of social conditioning held you back.

Instead, you said, "There's time for a drink before they arrive. Would you like something?"

He nodded, following you to the sitting room where the bar cart awaited. You poured him two fingers of the Macallan 25-year he preferred, your movements precise and practiced. When you handed him the crystal tumbler, your fingers brushed his—an accidental touch that shouldn't have felt significant but somehow did.

"One year," he said quietly, staring into the amber liquid.

"Yes," you agreed, pouring yourself a small measure of the same. "It's gone quickly."

The silence between you stretched, filled with all the words neither of you knew how to say. Jungwon seemed on the verge of speaking when the doorbell rang, announcing the arrival of his parents.

The moment, whatever it might have been, evaporated.

Dinner progressed with the same choreographed precision as every family gathering. Mrs. Yang complimented the decor, inquired about your recent charity work, and dominated the conversation with updates on various family connections. Mr. Yang, stern and reserved like his son, contributed occasional comments about business or politics. And Mr. Kim, who had indeed accompanied them, observed it all with the calculated interest of someone evaluating an investment.

"The first year is always the most challenging," Mrs. Yang declared over the entrée, smiling at you and Jungwon with evident satisfaction. "And you two have managed it beautifully."

"Indeed," agreed Mr. Kim, raising his wine glass in a small toast. "The Yang family's standing has only strengthened. Your partnership has proven most advantageous."

Partnership. Not marriage. The distinction wasn't lost on you.

"And the foundation gala last month," Mrs. Yang continued. "Several board members commented on how impressive you both were. The Choi family was particularly taken with you, dear." She directed this last comment at you. "Mrs. Choi mentioned how fortunate Jungwon is to have found such an accomplished wife."

"I am fortunate," Jungwon agreed smoothly, the response automatic. He didn't look at you as he said it.

"Now, about the expansion into renewable energy," Mr. Yang began, turning to his son. "The board is meeting next week to discuss the proposal."

Business at the anniversary dinner, just as you'd predicted. You caught Jungwon's eye across the table, a silent acknowledgment passing between you. For once, it felt like you were truly on the same side, united in your recognition of the situation's irony.

As the men discussed business, Mrs. Yang leaned closer to you. "You know, dear, I've been meaning to ask... it's been a year now. Any news you'd like to share? Any... expectations?"

The delicate emphasis made her meaning clear. You felt heat rise to your face, embarrassment mingling with a deeper discomfort.

"Not yet," you replied quietly, maintaining your composure despite the intrusive question.

"Well, there's still time," she said, patting your hand. "Though of course, an heir is important for the Yang legacy. My husband's grandmother used to say, 'A tree without new leaves withers.'"

You nodded politely, taking a sip of wine to avoid having to respond further. Across the table, you noticed Jungwon's shoulders tense, though he gave no other indication of having overheard.

The rest of the evening passed in a similar vein—discussions of business, thinly veiled inquiries about family planning, and reminiscences about the wedding that focused primarily on its beneficial outcomes for the Yang family interests.

Not once did anyone ask if you were happy.

After seeing his parents and Mr. Kim to the door, Jungwon returned to the sitting room where you were nursing a final glass of wine. The house felt unnaturally quiet after the departure of the guests, the air heavy with unspoken thoughts.

"My mother was pleased," he said, loosening his tie and pouring himself another whiskey. "She said the dinner was perfect."

"Of course she did," you replied, a hint of bitterness seeping into your voice despite your best efforts. "Everything about us is perfect on the surface."

Jungwon looked at you sharply. "What does that mean?"

The wine, the emotional strain of the evening, the accumulation of a year's worth of silences—something inside you finally cracked.

"It means this," you gestured between the two of you, "isn't a marriage. It's a business arrangement with living quarters."

His expression hardened. "That's unfair. I've given you everything you could want."

"Everything except yourself," you countered, your voice rising slightly. "We live in the same house, sleep in the same bed, but you might as well be a thousand miles away."

"I don't know what you expect," he said stiffly. "We both understood the nature of this marriage from the beginning."

"Did we? Because I didn't agree to a lifetime of politeness and distance. I didn't agree to be nothing more than the perfect hostess and social coordinator for your business connections."

Jungwon set down his glass with careful precision. "You've never complained before."

"When would I have complained, Jungwon? During the three minutes of conversation we have each morning? Or perhaps during our public performances where we pretend to be a loving couple?"

He ran a hand through his hair, disheveling its perfect arrangement. "I thought you were satisfied with our arrangement. You manage the household, attend the events, fulfill your responsibilities—"

"Responsibilities?" The word struck like a match against your accumulated frustration. "Is that all I am to you? A set of responsibilities to be fulfilled?"

"That's not what I meant."

"Then what did you mean? Please, enlighten me about my role in this arrangement, since clearly I've misunderstood."

His jaw tightened. "You're my wife."

"Your wife," you repeated, the word suddenly sounding hollow. "And what does that mean to you? Because from where I stand, I might as well be your assistant or your housekeeper for all the genuine connection between us."

"You're being dramatic," he said dismissively. "Perhaps you've had too much wine."

The condescension in his tone was the final straw. A year of suppressed emotions—loneliness, frustration, yearning—erupted like a volcano too long dormant.

"Don't you dare dismiss me," you snapped, rising to your feet. "I have spent a year of my life walking on eggshells, trying to be perfect, trying to please you and your family, and for what? A thank you when I select the right tie? A nod of approval when I make the right business connection?"

Jungwon stared at you, clearly taken aback by your outburst. "I don't understand where this is coming from."

"Of course you don't! You've never bothered to see me as anything more than a convenient addition to your perfectly ordered life. Wake up at five, ignore wife, go to work, come home, work more, sleep. Repeat until death."

"That's not fair," he protested, but his voice lacked conviction.

"Isn't it? When was the last time you asked me about my day? Or shared something personal about yours? When was the last time you looked at me—really looked at me—not as the 'Madame' of this house or as an accessory at a business function, but as a woman? As your wife?"

The color drained from Jungwon's face, but you were beyond stopping now. The floodgates had opened, and a year's worth of unspoken thoughts poured forth in a torrent.

"We haven't even consummated our marriage, Jungwon! One year, and you've never once reached for me in the night. Never once kissed me with anything resembling passion. Do you have any idea how that feels? To lie beside someone night after night, wanting to be touched, to be desired, and meeting nothing but polite distance?"

His eyes widened in shock at your bluntness. "I—I thought you preferred our current arrangement. You never indicated—"

"Indicated?" You laughed, the sound brittle. "Would it have mattered if I had? You barely look at me when we're alone together. You keep yourself locked in your office until I'm asleep. Tell me, Jungwon, are you repulsed by me? Is that it?"

"No!" The vehemence of his response surprised you both. "That's not it at all."

"Then what? What keeps you at arm's length? Because I can't live like this anymore—this half-life of appearances and politeness with nothing real beneath it."

You moved closer, anger giving you courage you'd never had before. "How do you satisfy your desires, Jungwon? Do you have someone else? Some mistress in an apartment downtown who gets to see the real you? Who gets to feel your touch, your passion?"

He looked genuinely shocked. "There's no one else. I would never—"

"Then what?" Your voice broke slightly. "Are you simply that cold? That disconnected from your own body, your own needs? Because I refuse to believe a healthy man in his prime feels nothing, wants nothing."

Jungwon's jaw tightened. "This conversation is inappropriate."

"Inappropriate?" You were nearly shouting now. "We're married! This is exactly the conversation we should have had months ago! Do you have any idea what it's like to wonder if there's something wrong with you? To lie awake wondering why your husband never reaches for you? To start believing that maybe you're fundamentally undesirable?"

"That's not—" he began, but you cut him off.

"I've started inventing stories in my head, Jungwon. Elaborate scenarios to explain why my husband treats me like a porcelain doll. Maybe you're secretly in love with someone from your past. Maybe you prefer men. Maybe you have some medical condition you're too embarrassed to discuss. I've considered everything because the alternative—that you simply feel nothing for me—is too painful to bear."

His face had gone pale. "It's none of those things."

"Then help me understand," you pleaded, anger giving way to raw vulnerability. "Because the silence is killing me. The wondering is killing me. Are you like this with everyone? This... removed? This contained? Or is it just me you can't bring yourself to touch?"

Jungwon paced away from you, his composure cracking visibly. For a moment, he looked like he might retreat to his office—his usual escape—but instead, he stopped at the window, staring out at the darkness.

"I live in my head," he said so quietly you almost missed it. "Always have. Physical... intimacy... doesn't come naturally to me."

"Have you ever let yourself feel something?" you asked, your tone softer now. "With anyone?"

He was silent for so long you thought he might not answer. When he did, his voice was strained. "There was someone in college. It ended badly. I lost control, became... emotional. My father said it was embarrassing. Unbecoming of a Yang."

The confession surprised you. This tiny glimpse into his past felt like more intimacy than you'd experienced in a year of marriage.

"And since then?"

"Since then I've learned to be careful. Controlled." He turned to face you. "I thought I was respecting your space. Your independence."

"Respecting my space?" You stared at him incredulously. "There's a difference between respect and indifference, Jungwon."

"I'm not indifferent to you," he said quietly.

"Then what are you? Because from my perspective, I might as well be living alone for all the emotional connection between us."

He turned away again, his shoulders rigid with tension. "I don't know how to do this."

"Do what?"

"This." He gestured vaguely. "Marriage. Intimacy. I wasn't raised for it."

"Neither was I," you countered. "But I'm trying. I've been trying for a year while you've been hiding behind work and politeness and duty."

You moved to stand beside him at the window, close but not touching. "Do you ever look at me and feel anything, Jungwon? Anything at all? Because sometimes I catch you watching me when you think I won't notice, and there's something in your eyes that disappears the moment I turn toward you."

He swallowed visibly. "I notice everything about you," he admitted, the words seeming to cost him. "The way you arrange flowers according to your mood. How you always leave the last bite of dessert. The small sigh you make when you're reading something that touches you."

The revelation stunned you. "Then why—"

"Because wanting leads to needing," he interrupted, his voice suddenly raw. "And needing makes you vulnerable. My father taught me that. The moment you need someone, you've given them the power to destroy you."

The silence stretched between you, heavy with the weight of truths finally spoken aloud. When Jungwon finally turned back to face you, his expression was uncharacteristically vulnerable.

"What do you want from me?" he asked, and for once, the question seemed genuine.

The simplicity of the question momentarily deflated your anger. What did you want? It was a question you'd asked yourself countless times during sleepless nights.

"I want a husband, not a housemate," you said finally. "I want to know the man behind the perfect facade. I want to feel wanted, desired, known. I want the possibility of love, even if it's not there yet."

Your voice cracked on the last words, and you felt tears threatening. "Sometimes I think if I sleep with you once and let you get me pregnant, at least I won't be so damn lonely. At least I'd have someone who needs me, truly needs me, not just for appearances or social connections."

"A child deserves better than to be born from desperation," Jungwon said softly, surprising you with his insight.

"And a wife deserves better than emotional abandonment," you countered. "I look at other couples sometimes—even the arranged marriages in our circle—and I see moments of genuine tenderness. A hand on a shoulder. A private smile. Small intimacies that say 'I see you, I choose you.' We have none of that, Jungwon."

He flinched as if struck. "Is that what you think? That I only see you as a means to an heir?"

"How would I know what you think?" you demanded. "You barely speak to me about anything that matters. For all I know, you've mapped out our entire future in that methodical mind of yours—the optimal time for children, their education, their role in continuing the Yang legacy—all without once considering what I might want, what I might need as a woman, as a person."

"That's not true," he protested, but his voice lacked conviction.

"When have you ever shared your fears with me, Jungwon? Your hopes? Your dreams beyond the next business deal or family obligation? When have you ever asked about mine?"

He had no answer, and his silence was damning.

"I can't do this anymore," you said, suddenly exhausted. "I can't keep pretending that this empty performance is enough. I need more than politeness and perfect appearances. I need connection. I need intimacy. I need to at least feel that there's the possibility of love someday."

"And if I can't give you that?" he asked, his voice barely audible.

The question hung in the air between you, a challenge and a plea at once. You met his gaze directly.

"Then this marriage is already over, regardless of what we show the world."

The words fell like stones into still water, ripples of consequence expanding outward. Jungwon's face paled, and something like genuine fear flickered in his eyes.

"You would leave?" he asked, the question revealing more vulnerability than he'd shown in a year of marriage.

"Not in body, perhaps," you replied. "The scandal would devastate both our families. But in spirit? I'm already halfway gone, Jungwon. Every day of polite distance pushes me further away."

He sank onto the sofa, looking suddenly lost. This wasn't the composed, controlled man you'd lived alongside for a year. This was someone else—someone real and raw and unsure.

"I don't know how to be what you need," he admitted finally.

"I'm not asking for perfection," you said, your anger giving way to a profound sadness. "I'm asking for effort. For honesty. For the chance to build something real together, even if it's difficult. Even if we don't know exactly how."

Jungwon stared at his hands, his wedding ring catching the light. For a long moment, he said nothing. When he finally looked up, his eyes held a complexity of emotion you'd never seen before.

"I need time," he said. "To think. To... process all of this."

The request was reasonable, but it still stung. Even now, faced with the potential collapse of your marriage, he couldn't give you an immediate response.

"Fine," you said, suddenly bone-weary. "Take your time. You know where to find me."

You turned to leave, your body heavy with emotional exhaustion, when his voice stopped you.

"Where are you going?"

"To the blue guest room," you replied without turning. "I think we both need space tonight."

He made no move to stop you as you left the sitting room, your anniversary dress rustling softly with each step. The grand staircase seemed longer than usual, each step an effort. Behind you, you heard the clink of glass—Jungwon pouring another drink, perhaps, or simply moving restlessly in the silent house.

The blue guest room was immaculate, as was every room in the mansion, but it felt cold and impersonal. You sat on the edge of the bed, still in your evening dress, too tired even to cry. The confrontation had drained you completely, leaving nothing but a hollow ache where hope had once resided.

From the nightstand, your phone chimed with a message. Mechanically, you reached for it, expecting perhaps your mother-in-law with some post-dinner comment.

Instead, it was Jungwon.

I do want you. I always have. That's what frightens me.

You stared at the screen, the words blurring slightly as you read them over and over. A text message—that was what it had taken to finally glimpse the man behind the mask. Not a conversation, not a touch, but characters on a screen.

Another message appeared below the first.

I'm sorry. I should have said this to your face.

I'll be in the study when you're ready to talk. No matter how late.

The formality, even now. The careful distance maintained even in apology. You placed the phone back on the nightstand without responding, a weariness settling over you that went beyond physical exhaustion.

For a moment, you sat motionless on the edge of the guest bed, the weight of the past year pressing down on your shoulders. The perfect house with its perfect furnishings suddenly felt suffocating—every object a reminder of the performance your life had become.

You rose and moved to the window, pressing your palm against the cool glass. Outside, the rain had stopped, but the night remained dark and close. The mansion grounds, usually so meticulously maintained, seemed oppressive in their perfection. Even the garden paths were laid out with mathematical precision, every plant and stone exactly where it should be.

Like you. Exactly where you should be. The proper wife in her proper place.

The realization came suddenly, with absolute clarity: you couldn't stay here tonight. Not in this guest room, not in this house, not with Jungwon waiting in his study for a conversation that would likely end with more careful words and measured promises.

You needed air. Space. A place where you could remember who you were before becoming Mrs. Yang.

With deliberate movements, you changed out of your evening dress and into simple clothes. Packed a small overnight bag with essentials. Found your personal credit card—the one not connected to the Yang family accounts.

You hesitated only when it came time to write a note. What could you possibly say that wouldn't be misinterpreted or dismissed? In the end, you kept it simple:

I need space to breathe. Please don't follow me. I'll contact you when I'm ready.

You left it on the bed, where it would surely be found when someone came looking for you. Then, silently, you made your way down the service stairs and through the side entrance—avoiding the main foyer where you might encounter Jungwon.

The night air hit your face as you stepped outside, cool and clean and startlingly fresh. You took a deep breath, perhaps the first real one in months, and felt something inside you loosen just slightly.

You didn't call for the driver. Instead, you walked down the long driveway and past the gates, your heartbeat quickening with each step that took you farther from the mansion. Only when you reached the main road did you order a rideshare, giving the address of an old friend—one who predated your marriage, who had no connection to the Yang family circle.

As the car pulled away, you glanced back at the house—a magnificent silhouette against the night sky, lights burning in the study window where Jungwon waited for a conversation that wouldn't happen tonight.

Tomorrow would bring complications, explanations, perhaps reconciliation. But tonight, for the first time in a year, you were choosing yourself.

Your phone buzzed with a message from Jungwon.

Are you coming down?

You turned off the notifications and watched the mansion recede in the distance, growing smaller until it disappeared from view entirely.

-

The city lights blurred through your tears as the car wound its way through the quiet streets. The driver, sensing your distress, maintained a respectful silence, occasionally glancing at you in the rearview mirror with concern. You kept your face turned toward the window, watching as elite neighborhoods gave way to more modest surroundings.

When the car finally pulled up outside Leah's apartment building, you sat motionless for a moment, suddenly uncertain. It was past midnight. What if she wasn't home? What if she had company? What if—

"We're here, ma'am," the driver said gently, interrupting your spiraling thoughts.

"Thank you," you managed, gathering your small bag and stepping out into the night.

Leah's building was nothing like the Yang mansion—a six-story pre-war structure with a faded charm that stood in stark contrast to the sleek modernity you'd grown accustomed to. You hesitated at the entrance, then pressed her apartment number on the intercom.

After a long moment, a sleepy voice answered. "Hello?"

"Leah," you said, your voice cracking slightly. "It's me. I'm sorry it's so late, but—"

"Oh my god!" The sleepiness vanished instantly. "Are you okay? I'm buzzing you up right now."

The door clicked open, and you made your way to the third floor, each step feeling heavier than the last. Before you could even knock, Leah's door swung open, revealing your oldest friend in mismatched pajamas, her curly hair wild around her face.

"What happened?" she demanded, then stopped as she took in your appearance—the elegant makeup now streaked with tears, the designer clothes hastily exchanged for whatever you'd grabbed, the overnight bag clutched in your trembling hand.

"Oh, honey," she said, simply opening her arms.

Something inside you broke. You stumbled forward into her embrace and the tears you'd been holding back for months—perhaps for the entire year of your marriage—finally erupted. Great, heaving sobs that shook your entire body, that made it impossible to speak or breathe or think.

Leah didn't ask questions. She simply guided you inside, closing the door behind you, and held you while you fell apart. Her apartment was cluttered and lived-in, books stacked on every surface, half-finished art projects leaning against walls—the complete opposite of your sterile perfection at the mansion.

"I can't—" you tried to speak, but the words dissolved into more tears.

"Shh," she soothed, leading you to her worn but comfortable couch. "Just breathe. That's all you need to do right now."

You don't know how long you cried—long enough for your eyes to swell, for your throat to grow raw, for Leah's shoulder to become damp with your tears. Eventually, the storm subsided enough for you to become aware of your surroundings again. Leah had wrapped a soft blanket around your shoulders and was pressing a mug of hot tea into your hands.

"Small sips," she instructed, settling beside you. "It has honey for your throat."

You obeyed, the warmth spreading through your chest, momentarily calming the chaos inside you.

"I left him," you said finally, your voice hoarse from crying.

Leah's eyebrows shot up. "Jungwon? You left Jungwon?"

"Just for tonight. Maybe a few days. I don't know." You shook your head, struggling to articulate the tangle of emotions. "I couldn't breathe there anymore, Leah. In that perfect house with its perfect things and its perfect emptiness."

"I always wondered," she said cautiously, "if you were really happy. You stopped talking about the real stuff after the wedding. It was all charity events and dinner parties, but never... you know. The actual marriage part."

"There was no marriage part," you confessed, fresh tears threatening. "That's the problem. We live side by side like strangers. Polite, distant strangers who happen to share the same address."

Leah reached for your hand, squeezing it gently. "Did something specific happen tonight?"

You nodded, the evening's confrontation flashing through your mind in painful fragments. "We had our anniversary dinner with his parents. And after they left, I just... broke. All the things I've been holding back for a year came pouring out."

"Good for you," Leah said firmly.

"Is it?" You looked at her, uncertain. "I said terrible things, Leah. I accused him of seeing me as nothing but a showpiece, a means to an heir. I asked if he was repulsed by me. If he was sleeping with someone else."

"And what did he say?"

"He was shocked, mostly. I don't think anyone's ever spoken to him like that before." You took another sip of tea, gathering your thoughts. "But then he said something about... about wanting me but being afraid of needing someone. Of being vulnerable."

Leah nodded thoughtfully. "That actually makes a strange kind of sense. Your husband always struck me as someone who keeps himself under tight control."

"You've met him twice," you pointed out with a watery smile.

"Twice was enough." She grinned briefly, then grew serious again. "So what happens now?"

You shook your head, feeling utterly lost. "I don't know. I just knew I had to get out of there tonight. To remember what it feels like to be... me. Not Mrs. Yang, not the society hostess, just me."

"Well, you came to the right place," Leah said, gesturing around her chaotic apartment. "Nothing perfect or polished here. Just real life in all its messy glory."

For the first time that night, you felt a small laugh bubble up. "I've missed this. I've missed you."

"I've been right here," she reminded you gently. "You're the one who got swept up into the Yang universe."

The observation stung because it contained truth. After the wedding, you had gradually withdrawn from your old friendships, immersing yourself in the role expected of Jungwon's wife. It hadn't been a conscious choice, but rather a slow submersion into a new identity that had eventually consumed the person you used to be.

"I don't know who I am anymore," you confessed, the realization dawning as you spoke it. "I've spent so long being what everyone else needed me to be that I've forgotten what I actually want."

"Then maybe that's what this time away is for," Leah suggested. "To remember."

You nodded, exhaustion suddenly washing over you. The emotional release had drained what little energy you had left after the confrontation with Jungwon.

"The guest room is a disaster area right now—art supplies everywhere," Leah said apologetically. 

"The couch is perfect," you assured her, overwhelmed.

"Shut up, you'll sleep next to me,"

-

Jungwon sat in his study, crystal tumbler of whiskey untouched beside him, as he stared at his phone screen. The message showed as delivered, but not yet read. He refreshed the screen again, a gesture he'd repeated dozens of times in the last hour.

Are you coming down?

The timestamp mocked him. It had been nearly two hours since he'd sent it, and still no response. Unease had gradually transformed into concern, then alarm when he'd finally ventured upstairs to find the blue guest room empty, save for a handwritten note on the perfectly made bed.

I need space to breathe. Please don't follow me. I'll contact you when I'm ready.

The words had hit him with physical force. He stood there staring at the note, reading it over and over as if the sparse sentences might reveal some hidden meaning. Space to breathe. Had he really been suffocating you all this time without realizing it?

Now, back in his study, Jungwon fought against his instinct to act—to call security, to track your phone, to send drivers searching the city. You had asked for space. Following you would only prove that he couldn't respect your wishes, your independence. The very thing he'd convinced himself he'd been protecting all this time.

The irony wasn't lost on him.

Jungwon picked up his phone again, debating whether to try calling. His thumb hovered over your contact information before he set the device down with a sigh of frustration. What would he even say if you answered? The right words had eluded him for an entire year of marriage; they weren't likely to materialize now, in the middle of the night, after the worst fight of your relationship.

A relationship. Was that even the right word for what you had? You had called it a "business arrangement with living quarters," and the brutal accuracy of the description had left him speechless.

Jungwon ran a hand through his hair, disheveling it completely. The careful composure he maintained at all times had crumbled the moment he'd found your note. Now, alone in his study, there was no one to witness his distress, his uncertainty, his fear.

Fear. That was the emotion he'd denied for so long, burying it beneath layers of control and duty. Fear of needing someone. Fear of being vulnerable. Fear of repeating his father's cold, loveless existence.

And in trying to avoid his father's mistakes, he had made his own. Different in method, perhaps, but identical in result: a wife who felt unseen, unwanted.

The grandfather clock in the hallway chimed two in the morning. Jungwon hadn't slept, had barely moved from his position at the desk. The silence of the mansion pressed in around him, no longer the peaceful quiet he'd always preferred, but an emptiness that echoed your absence.

On impulse, he rose and left the study, walking through the darkened house toward the master suite. Inside the bedroom, everything remained exactly as you'd both left it hours earlier—your perfume bottle on the vanity, your book on the nightstand, your robe draped over a chair. He moved to your side of the bed, sitting down carefully on the edge, and picked up the book you'd been reading.

A collection of poetry. Jungwon hadn't even known you liked poetry.

What else didn't he know about the woman he'd married? What interests, dreams, fears had you kept hidden—or worse, had tried to share only to be met with his characteristic reserve?

He opened the book to where a silk bookmark held your place. The poem was circled lightly in pencil:

Between what is said and not meant, And what is meant and not said, Most of love is lost.

The simple lines struck him with unexpected force. Jungwon stared at the words, wondering how many times you had tried to tell him what you needed, how many signals he had missed or misinterpreted.

From his pocket, his phone buzzed with an incoming call. His heart leapt as he fumbled to answer, but the caller ID showed his father's name, not yours.

"Father," he answered, struggling to keep his voice even. "It's very late."

"Where is your wife?" Mr. Yang's voice was sharp, cutting through the pretense of pleasantries.

Jungwon tensed. "How did you—"

"Mrs. Park saw her getting into a taxi. Alone. After midnight. She naturally called your mother with concerns."

Of course. The gossip network never slept. "She's visiting a friend," he said carefully.

"In the middle of the night? Without you?" His father's skepticism was palpable. "Do you take me for a fool, Jungwon? What's going on?"

A familiar pattern attempted to reassert itself—the urge to placate his father, to maintain appearances, to ensure the Yang family reputation remained unsullied. For a moment, he almost slipped into the expected response.

But the circled poem caught his eye again. Most of love is lost. He couldn't lose any more.

"We had a disagreement," Jungwon said finally, the admission feeling like ripping off a bandage. "She needed some space."

"A disagreement?" His father's tone grew icier. "Serious enough for her to leave the house? To risk being seen by others, creating speculation? What were you thinking, allowing this?"

The word "allowing" ignited something in him—a flicker of the same defiance he'd felt when his father had demanded he end his college relationship.

"I wasn't 'allowing' anything, Father. She's my wife, not my subordinate. She made a choice, and I'm respecting it."

The silence on the other end of the line was deafening. Never in his adult life had Jungwon spoken to his father with such open opposition.

"This is unacceptable," Mr. Yang said finally. "You will resolve whatever childish spat has occurred and bring her home immediately. The gala next week—"

"Is not as important as my marriage," Jungwon interrupted, surprising himself with the firmness in his voice.

"Your marriage? Suddenly you care about your marriage?" His father's laugh was without humor. "For a year you've treated it exactly as I advised—as a beneficial arrangement. Now you're telling me you've developed feelings? Become sentimental?"

The contempt in the older man's voice was unmistakable, but instead of cowering as he might have in the past, Jungwon felt a strange calm settle over him.

"Yes," he said simply. "I have feelings for my wife. I always have. And I've been wrong to hide them."

"This is disappointing, Jungwon. I expected better from you."

"I'm beginning to think your expectations are precisely the problem, Father." Jungwon took a deep breath. "I need to go now. It's late, and I have some thinking to do."

"Don't you dare hang up on—"

Jungwon ended the call, staring at the phone in mild disbelief at his own actions. Then, with deliberate movements, he silenced the device and set it aside.

Returning to the poetry book, he carefully noted the page number of the circled poem, then moved through the house to your closet. There, among the designer clothes and accessories, he searched for some clue to the woman behind the perfect facade—the woman he'd married but never truly allowed himself to know.

In the back of a drawer, he found a small wooden box, simple and clearly personal. For a moment, his ingrained respect for privacy warred with his desperate need to understand you. Privacy won—he couldn't begin rebuilding trust by violating it—but the box's existence gave him hope. There were parts of yourself you'd kept separate from your arranged life, a core identity preserved despite the pressures of being Mrs. Yang.

Jungwon returned to the study, his earlier paralysis replaced by a growing resolve. He wouldn't chase you—you'd asked for space, and he would respect that. But he could prepare for your return, could begin the work of becoming someone worthy of a second chance.

The task seemed monumentally difficult, decades of conditioning standing in opposition to what he now knew he needed to do. He had no model for the kind of husband he wanted to become, no example of vulnerability balanced with strength.

But for the first time since you'd walked out, Jungwon felt something like hope. If you gave him the chance, he would find a way to be better. To be real. To tear down the walls he'd built over a lifetime of emotional suppression.

Dawn was breaking outside the study windows when he finally drafted a message, simple and without expectation:

I understand you need space, and I respect that. I'll be here when you're ready to talk—whether that's tomorrow or next week. I'm sorry for a year of silence. I'm listening now.

He sent it before he could second-guess himself, then set the phone down and moved to the window. Outside, the gardens were beginning to emerge from darkness, the first light revealing dew on the perfectly manicured lawns.

For once, Jungwon didn't see the perfection. Instead, he noticed how the morning light caught in a spider's web between two branches, transforming the fragile structure into something beautiful and strong. Perhaps there was a lesson there, in vulnerability's unexpected resilience.

As the mansion gradually woke around him—staff arriving, coffee brewing, the day's preparations beginning—Jungwon remained at the window, watching the light change and wondering if you, wherever you were, might be watching the same sunrise.

-

The mansion felt impossibly silent as Jungwon moved through the darkened hallways, your poetry book clutched in his hand like a lifeline. Sleep had become not just elusive but impossible, the vast emptiness of your shared bed a physical manifestation of what had been missing between you for a year. The sheets still carried your scent—a subtle perfume that he'd never properly acknowledged until now, when its absence made the fabric seem cold and lifeless.

He couldn't bear to remain in that room, surrounded by the ghosts of a thousand nights spent in careful distance. Instead, he found himself back in his study, the room that had been his refuge from intimacy for so long. Now it felt like a prison of his own making, walls lined with business achievements that suddenly seemed hollow.

With trembling hands, he placed your book on his desk and opened it once more to the marked page, the one with the circled verse that had first pierced his carefully constructed armor:

Between what is said and not meant,

And what is meant and not said,

Most of love is lost.

His fingers traced your handwriting in the margin—small, delicate notes that revealed more about your inner thoughts than a year of careful conversation had. Next to this poem, you'd written simply: Us? with the question mark trailing off like a fading hope.

One word, followed by a question mark. So much longing contained in those three small letters. Had you written this recently, or months ago? Had you been silently questioning the emptiness between you while he maintained his facade of contentment?

Jungwon turned the page, discovering more of your markings. Some poems had stars beside them, others had entire stanzas underlined. Some had exclamation points, others question marks. It was like finding a secret language, a code he should have deciphered long ago.

A poem about two rivers running parallel without ever meeting carried your annotation: This is what marriage feels like. So close yet never touching.

His breath caught. When had you written that? While lying beside him in bed, bodies carefully not touching? While sitting across from him at breakfast, exchanging polite comments about the day ahead?

He continued reading, unable to stop himself now. Each page revealed more of your hidden inner life. A poem about seasonal changes had reminds me of childhood summers before expectations written in the margin. Another about distant mountains carried the note wish we could travel together somewhere without his family or business associates.

Each annotation was a window into desires you'd never expressed, dreams you'd kept hidden. Why had he never asked what you wanted? Where you longed to go? What made you happy?

The night deepened around him, but Jungwon barely noticed. He was falling into your world, glimpsing for the first time the woman behind the perfect wife he'd taken for granted.

Then he found a page with the corner folded down, a poem about physical love:

I want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees.

Your handwriting beside it was more hurried, almost feverish: too much to hope for? would he ever lose control enough?

Jungwon's throat tightened painfully. All those nights lying beside you, maintaining a careful distance, while you marked poems about passion and wrote desperate questions no one would see. How many nights had you lain awake, wanting him to reach for you? How many times had you considered reaching for him, only to retreat in fear of rejection?

He turned more pages, finding increasingly intimate selections. Next to Pablo Neruda's words:

I want to eat the sunbeam flaring in your lovely body, the sovereign nose of your arrogant face, I want to eat the fleeting shade of your lashes

You'd written: I dream of his mouth on my skin. Would he be disgusted by such thoughts?

The pain that shot through him was physical. Disgusted? How could you think that? But then, what else could you think when he'd maintained such careful distance, when he'd retreated to his study each night rather than face the vulnerability of desire?

Another poem, this one about hands tracing the geography of a lover's body, carried your note: I've memorized the shape of his hands during dinner parties, imagined them on me instead of on his wine glass.

Jungwon looked down at his own hands, remembering all the times they'd almost touched you—passing dishes at dinner, handing you into the car, the brief contact when giving you a gift—and how he'd always pulled back just slightly too soon. What would have happened if he'd let his fingers linger? If he'd given in to the urge to trace the line of your jaw, to feel the softness of your skin?

Hours passed as he lost himself in your secret thoughts. Some poems had tear stains, barely perceptible wrinkles in the paper where droplets had fallen and dried. Those broke him most of all—the tangible evidence of your solitary tears, shed perhaps just feet away from where he sat working, oblivious to your pain.

One poem about loneliness had simply: I am disappearing inside this house, inside this marriage, becoming nothing but "Mrs. Yang" scrawled across the bottom in handwriting that shook with emotion.

Dawn found him still at his desk, eyes burning from reading and from tears he hadn't realized he was shedding. The morning staff moved quietly through the house, shocked to see him disheveled and unshaven, the immaculate Yang heir looking like a man undone.

He ignored their concerned glances, your poetry book still open before him. But it wasn't enough. One book couldn't contain all of you. He needed more.

"Sir," the housekeeper approached hesitantly as Jungwon emerged from his study, still in yesterday's clothes, "would you like your breakfast now?"

"No," he replied, his voice hoarse from a night without sleep. "I need to see all of Madame's books. Every book in this house that she's ever touched."

The housekeeper exchanged a worried glance with the butler. "All of them, sir?"

"Every single one. Novels, poetry, anything with her handwriting in it. Bring them to the library."

He moved with feverish purpose to the library, pulling books from shelves himself—any that showed signs of your touch. Dog-eared pages, bookmarks, the slight cracking of spines that indicated frequent opening to favorite passages.

Throughout the day, the staff delivered more and more books—novels from your nightstand, reference books from the sunroom shelves, journals from your writing desk. Jungwon created careful piles around him, transforming the library floor into a map of your mind.

He found a travel book about Greece with dozens of Post-it notes marking specific locations. The private cove where no one would expect Mrs. Yang to swim naked read one note that made his heart race. Another, beside a picture of a small village: No social obligations, no family expectations—heaven.

You'd been dreaming of escape. From the mansion, from the Yang name, from him? The thought was unbearable.

In your copy of Jane Eyre, he found your underlining of Rochester's passionate declaration: "I have for the first time found what I can truly love–I have found you." Beside it, your handwriting: To be truly SEEN by someone. What would that feel like?

"Oh god," he whispered, the words escaping involuntarily. "You've never felt seen."

How could he have failed so completely? He, who prided himself on his attention to detail in business, had missed everything that mattered about the woman who shared his home, his name, his bed.

As afternoon turned to evening, Jungwon discovered a small leather journal tucked between larger books on a bottom shelf. He hesitated, knowing this was crossing a line from reading your notes to reading your private thoughts. But his need to know you, to understand what he'd missed, overrode his sense of propriety.

The journal wasn't a diary but a collection of poems you'd written yourself, clumsy in places but raw with emotion:

I practice conversations with you in my head

Witty things I might say that would make you look at me

Really look at me

But when you enter the room

My words evaporate like morning dew

And we speak of dinner parties and business associates

Never of stars or dreams or why your eyes

Sometimes follow me when you think I don't notice

Jungwon felt his careful composure—the mask he'd worn his entire adult life—shatter completely. You had seen him watching you. Had known there was something beneath his polite facade. But he'd never given you enough to be sure, had never been brave enough to let you see his wanting.

Another poem, dated just two months ago:

Your fingers brushed mine as you handed me a glass

Accidental touch that burned through my skin

I wonder if you felt it too

That current between us, electric and dangerous

Or if I imagined it, desperate for connection

For any sign that beneath your perfect suit

Beats a heart that could want me

As much as I want you

He had felt it. Every accidental touch, every brush of your hand, every moment when you stood close enough that he could smell your perfume. He had felt everything and denied it all, retreating into work and duty and the expectations drilled into him since childhood.

The worst entry was the most recent, written just days before your anniversary:

One year of marriage

Three hundred sixty-five nights of lying beside him

Listening to his breathing

Wondering if he's awake

Wondering if he ever thinks of touching me

Of breaking through the invisible wall between us

One year of perfect Mrs. Yang While the woman inside me slowly suffocates

Sometimes I think if I just reached for him once

If I was brave enough to cross that divide

But what if his rejection destroyed the last piece of me

That still believes I'm worthy of being

Wanted.

Jungwon closed the journal, his vision blurred with tears. You had been silently begging for him to reach across the divide while he had been congratulating himself on respecting your independence. The magnitude of his failure crushed him.

He didn't eat that day. Didn't change clothes. Didn't acknowledge the increasingly concerned staff who hovered at the library's periphery. Instead, he immersed himself in your hidden world, learning you through the books you'd loved, the passages you'd marked, the words you'd written when you thought no one would see.

Dawn arrived, but Jungwon had lost all sense of time. The library floor was covered with open books, each one containing fragments of your soul. He had read himself into a state of emotional exhaustion, discovering more and more evidence of your loneliness, your desire, your gradual loss of hope.

A desperate energy seized him. Reading wasn't enough. He needed to act, to change, to create physical evidence of his awakening before you returned—if you returned.

He summoned the head gardener, ignoring the man's shocked expression at his disheveled appearance.

"I need every peony on the estate moved to the front garden," he announced, his voice rough from disuse. "Every single one. From all the gardens, the greenhouse, everywhere."

"Sir, that would be hundreds of plants," the gardener protested. "And the formal design—"

"I don't care about the design," Jungwon interrupted, thinking of a note he'd found beside a picture of a wild garden: Why must everything be so ordered? So perfect? I long for beautiful chaos. "I want them arranged naturally. The way they would grow if they chose their own placement."

"But sir, your mother's landscape plan—"

"Is no longer relevant." Jungwon's eyes flashed with an intensity that made the gardener step back. "The peonies were always her choice, not my wife's. I want a garden that reflects what she loves."

"This will take all day, possibly longer," the gardener warned.

"Then start immediately. And I need something else. The bookshelves from the east parlor—bring them to the east garden. All of them."

The staff exchanged alarmed glances, but Jungwon was beyond caring about their concerns. He continued issuing instructions, driven by the need to transform the mansion—to break the perfect mold that had trapped you both.

"Sir," the butler ventured cautiously when the others had gone to carry out these strange orders, "perhaps you should rest. You haven't slept or eaten—"

"How can I rest?" Jungwon's voice broke with emotion. "Do you know what I've discovered? She's been living here for a year, lonely and unfulfilled, while I congratulated myself on being a proper husband. I've failed her completely."

The butler, who had served the Yang family for decades, had never seen the young master in such a state. "Sir, if I may... it's never too late to change course."

Jungwon looked at him sharply. "Have you seen her? Has she contacted anyone?"

"No, sir. But knowing Madame, she's not one to leave matters unresolved."

With renewed determination, Jungwon returned to the library. He selected dozens of books containing your most revealing notes and had them brought to the east garden. As the shelves were positioned on the grass, he began arranging the books, creating a physical testament to what he'd learned.

The gardeners worked throughout the day, transplanting hundreds of peonies to the front garden in a naturalistic arrangement that would horrify his mother but, he hoped, would speak to you. The once-formal approach to the house transformed into an explosion of your favorite flowers, arranged with the organic randomness of nature rather than the rigid precision of Yang tradition.

By late afternoon, Jungwon had created an outdoor library in the east garden—the private corner of the grounds where you often walked alone. He placed books on the shelves and opened others on the grass around him, creating a circle of revelations.

He had sent the staff away, needing to be alone with the evidence of his awakening. His phone buzzed repeatedly—his father, his mother, business associates all demanding attention. He ignored them all.

Instead, he picked up your poetry journal again, reading and rereading your most vulnerable confessions. The precise handwriting becoming more jagged with emotion. The careful Mrs. Yang breaking through to the woman beneath.

As sunset painted the sky in shades of pink and gold, Jungwon sat amidst the books, surrounded by the fragments of you he'd collected, feeling more alive and more terrified than he had ever been. What if it was too late? What if you had already decided that the year of emotional solitude was too high a price for the Yang name and fortune?

He wouldn't blame you. How could he? He had offered you everything except himself.

Night fell, and still he remained in the garden, under stars you had once described in a margin note as witnesses to all our silent longings. He read your words by the light of lanterns the staff had silently provided, losing himself in the labyrinth of your unspoken desires.

In the faint light, he reread the poem that had started his journey—the one about love lost between what is said and not meant, what is meant and not said. He traced your question mark with his finger, feeling the slight indentation in the paper where you had pressed the pen, perhaps harder than you intended, the physical evidence of your frustration.

"I see you now," he whispered to the empty garden, to the books that held pieces of your soul. "I see you, and I'm terrified it's too late."

The night deepened around him, but Jungwon remained among the books, keeping vigil, waiting, hoping you would come home—and fearing you would not.

-

Five days since you'd left. Five days of freedom from the perfect imprisonment that had become your life. Five days to remember who you were before becoming Mrs. Yang.

On the morning of the sixth day, as you sat on Leah's small balcony with a chipped mug of coffee, your phone lit up with a text from Jungwon's personal assistant.

Mr. Yang has canceled all appointments for the foreseeable future. The household staff reports concerning behavior. If you could contact them, they would be grateful.

You stared at the message, rereading it several times. Jungwon never canceled appointments. Even when he'd had the flu last winter, he'd conducted meetings by video rather than reschedule. His schedule was sacred, immovable.

"What's wrong?" Leah asked, noticing your expression.

You handed her the phone. She read the message and raised her eyebrows.

"Sounds like someone's having a breakdown."

"Jungwon doesn't have breakdowns," you said automatically, then paused. The man you'd confronted before leaving—the one who'd admitted his fear of vulnerability, who'd texted you his feelings rather than say them aloud—perhaps that man did have breakdowns after all.

"Are you going to go check on him?" Leah asked.

You sighed, setting down your coffee. "I have to, don't I? At the very least, I need to get more of my things." You'd left with only a small overnight bag, having no plan beyond escape.

"Want me to come with you?"

"No," you said, more decisively than you felt. "This is something I need to do alone."

As you showered and dressed, you tried to prepare yourself for what awaited. Would Jungwon be coldly angry, his moment of vulnerability already locked away? Would he have summoned his parents, ready for a united front to convince you of your duties? Or would he simply be absent, buried in work as a shield against emotion?

In the rideshare on the way to the mansion, you rehearsed what to say. You would be calm but firm. This wasn't about blame anymore but about whether a real marriage was possible between you. You needed honesty, vulnerability, true partnership—not just the performance of marriage you'd endured for a year.

But as the car approached the gates of the estate, your carefully prepared speech evaporated. The formal gardens that had always greeted visitors with mathematical precision had been transformed. Instead of the orderly rows of seasonal blooms, there was a riot of peonies—your favorite flower—planted in natural, wild groupings that looked almost as if they had grown there spontaneously.

"Wait here," you told the driver. "I may not be staying."

As you walked up the long driveway, your heart hammered against your ribs. The front door opened before you reached it, the butler appearing with an expression of profound relief.

"Madame," he said, bowing slightly. "Thank goodness you've returned."

"I'm not staying necessarily," you clarified, stepping into the foyer. "I just came to—" You stopped, noticing more changes. The formal floral arrangements that always occupied the entryway tables had been replaced with wild, exuberant bouquets of peonies and wildflowers. "What's happening here?"

"Mr. Yang has been... making adjustments to the household," the butler replied diplomatically. "He's in the east garden. He's been there nearly two days now."

Two days? "Is he... is he all right?"

The butler hesitated. "I believe he's waiting for you, Madame."

You made your way through the house, noting more changes as you went. Books that had always been perfectly arranged on shelves now sat in haphazard stacks on tables, many open to specific pages. Your books, you realized, from your private collection.

When you reached the doors leading to the east garden—your favorite part of the grounds, where you often walked alone—you paused, gathering your courage.

Nothing could have prepared you for what you found.

The garden had been transformed into an outdoor library. Bookshelves stood on the grass in a semicircle, filled with books—your books—many open to display specific pages. And in the center, sitting cross-legged on the ground surrounded by open volumes, was Jungwon.

You'd never seen him like this. His usually immaculate appearance was completely undone—hair disheveled, several days' stubble on his jaw, clothes rumpled as if he'd slept in them. He was reading intently from what you recognized as your private poetry journal, his expression a mixture of pain and wonder.

He looked up as your shadow fell across the page, and the naked hope and fear in his eyes made your breath catch.

"You came back," he said, his voice rough as if from disuse.

"What is all this?" you asked, gesturing to the surreal scene around you.

Jungwon carefully closed your journal and set it aside. He rose slowly to his feet, a man moving carefully so as not to shatter something fragile.

"I've been trying to find you," he said. "The real you. The one I should have been looking for all along."

You stepped closer, picking up one of the books from the grass. It was your copy of Neruda's love sonnets, open to a page where you'd scribbled Would he ever touch me like this? in the margin.

Heat rose to your face. "You've been reading my private notes?"

"Yes." Jungwon didn't try to justify or excuse it. "I needed to understand what I'd missed, what I'd ignored. I needed to see you—really see you."

You should have been angry at the invasion of privacy, but something in his broken expression stopped your protest. This wasn't the controlled, perfect Jungwon Yang you'd married. This was someone else entirely—raw, desperate, real.

"Do you have any idea," he continued, taking a step toward you, "how much you've wanted? How much you've needed? All these books, all these words you've underlined, notes you've written—they're full of longing I never acknowledged."

You remained silent, unsure what to say as he moved closer, stopping just short of touching you.

"I found your poem about lying beside me at night, wondering if I was awake, wondering if I ever thought about touching you." His voice broke slightly. "I did. Every night. I lay there wanting you, terrified of reaching for you, convinced that maintaining distance was the same as showing respect."

Your heart pounded so hard you were sure he must hear it. "Why are you telling me this now?"

"Because I almost lost you." The simple truth hung in the air between you. "Because I realized that the thing I feared most—vulnerability, need, the possibility of rejection—was nothing compared to the emptiness of letting you walk away without ever knowing how much I want you. How much I've always wanted you."

To your shock, Jungwon suddenly dropped to his knees before you, looking up with eyes that held none of his usual composure.

"I don't deserve another chance," he said, his voice raw with emotion. "I've been a coward, hiding behind duty and family expectations. But if you're willing—if there's any part of you that believes we could start again—I swear I will spend every day trying to be worthy of you."

You stood frozen, overwhelmed by his declaration, by the sight of Jungwon Yang—heir to an empire, always in perfect control—on his knees before you, walls finally shattered.

"I want to build a life with you," he continued, the words spilling out as if he couldn't contain them any longer. "A real life, not this performance we've been trapped in. I want mornings where we don't pretend to sleep through each other's routines. I want to hear about your day and tell you about mine. I want to take you to that cove in Greece where no one would expect Mrs. Yang to swim naked."

Your cheeks flamed at the reference to your private note in the travel book.

"I've read every word you've written in the margins," he confessed, his voice dropping lower. "I've memorized your poetry. The ones you circled, the ones you starred. Neruda's words—'I want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees'—I understand them now. I feel them in my veins."

His eyes locked with yours, their intensity almost unbearable.

"I dream of you. Of being inside you. Of knowing nothing but the depth of your eyes when you look at me. Of drowning in your skin until my mind forgets every lesson in restraint I've ever learned." His voice shook slightly. "All those nights I lay beside you, rigid with control, while you wrote of desire in book margins—it was never indifference. It was fear. Fear of how completely I would surrender to you if I allowed myself a single touch."

You couldn't breathe, couldn't speak as he continued, years of suppressed desire breaking through the dam of his composure.

"I found where you wrote 'would he ever lose control enough?' The answer is yes. God, yes. Every moment of every day I've wanted to lose myself in you. To press you against walls, to taste every inch of your skin, to hear my name in your voice when I'm buried so deep inside you that we can't tell where I end and you begin."

He trembled visibly now, hands clenched at his sides to keep from reaching for you.

"I want children who know their father can feel, can love," he went on, his voice breaking. "I want to be the man you deserve—not the perfect Yang heir, but a husband who sees you, hears you, wants you exactly as you are."

Tears welled in your eyes, but you blinked them back. This was what you'd wanted—wasn't it? The real man beneath the perfect facade. But now that he was here, raw and vulnerable, you found yourself terrified of your own power to hurt him, to be hurt again.

"I don't know if I can trust this," you admitted softly. "What happens when your father calls? When your mother visits? When business demands return? Will you retreat back behind those walls you've built over a lifetime?"

Jungwon nodded, acknowledging the fairness of your question. "I already told my father I won't be controlled by his expectations anymore. I hung up on him—" He gave a small, disbelieving laugh. "I actually hung up on him when he tried to order me to bring you back for appearances' sake."

Your eyes widened. In the Yang family hierarchy, defying the patriarch was unthinkable.

"I can't promise I'll never struggle," Jungwon continued. "A lifetime of conditioning doesn't disappear in a week. But I can promise to try. To talk instead of withdraw. To let you see me—all of me, even the parts I was taught to hide." He swallowed hard. "And I can promise that no business meeting, no family obligation, nothing will ever be more important to me than you are."

The morning sunlight filtered through the garden trees, casting dappled light across his face, highlighting the exhaustion in his eyes, the vulnerability in his expression. In that moment, all the trappings of wealth and status fell away, leaving just a man asking a woman for another chance.

"I love you," he said quietly, the words clearly strange on his tongue. "I think I have from the beginning, but I didn't know how to show it, how to say it, how to let myself feel it without fear."

Your carefully constructed walls began to crumble. The honesty in his eyes, the tremor in his voice—this wasn't another performance. This was real in a way nothing between you had been before.

You took a deep breath, making a decision that would change everything.

"Stand up," you said softly.

Jungwon rose slowly, uncertainty in every line of his body. He stood before you, not touching, waiting.

"I need time," you said finally. "Not away from you—I think we've had enough distance. But time here, together, building something real. Day by day. No quick fixes, no grand gestures, just... honest effort."

Relief washed over his face. "Anything. Whatever you need."

You reached out slowly, your hand trembling slightly as you placed it against his cheek. The stubble was rough under your palm—a tangible sign of his unraveling, his transformation.

"We start again," you said. "As equals. As partners. As two people choosing each other every day, not just fulfilling an arrangement."

Jungwon covered your hand with his own, his eyes never leaving yours. "Yes," he agreed simply. "That's all I want. The chance to choose you, and to be chosen by you, every day."

You stood there in the garden surrounded by the evidence of his awakening—the books, the wildflowers, the breaking of perfect order that had defined your lives together. Nothing was resolved yet, not really. The real work of building a marriage would take time, patience, courage from both of you.

But as Jungwon's fingers tentatively interlaced with yours, you felt something you hadn't experienced in a very long time: hope.

Not the desperate hope that had led you to mark passages in poetry books, dreaming of connection. But a quieter, stronger hope built on the foundation of truth finally spoken, of walls finally breached.

A beginning, at last, after a year of beautiful emptiness.

-

The transformation didn't happen overnight. Real change never does. But it began with small, deliberate steps—each one a silent promise, a brick in the foundation of what you both hoped would become something genuine and lasting.

The first week was tentative, both of you navigating an unfamiliar landscape of honesty. You moved back into the master bedroom, but Jungwon slept on the chaise lounge across the room, respecting your need for physical space while closing the emotional distance. Each night, you talked—sometimes for hours—about everything and nothing. Your childhoods. Your dreams. The books that had shaped you. The places you longed to visit.

"I never knew you wanted to see Greece so badly," Jungwon said one evening, sitting cross-legged on the chaise, looking younger and more relaxed than you'd ever seen him. "We could go. Whenever you want."

"It's not just about going," you explained, hugging your knees to your chest as you sat against the headboard. "It's about going somewhere simply because we want to, not because it's expected or beneficial to the family business."

He nodded, understanding dawning in his eyes. "A trip just for us. No schedules, no business meetings disguised as vacations..."

"Exactly."

Two days later, you found a travel guide to the Greek islands on your pillow, with a note in Jungwon's precise handwriting: Pick the places that call to you. No expectations. No time limit. Just us.

-

The second week brought the first real test. Mrs. Yang arrived unannounced, sweeping into the foyer with the authority of someone who had never been denied entry.

"I've heard disturbing reports," she announced, eyeing the wildflower arrangements with thinly veiled distaste. "The garden completely rearranged. Appointments canceled. Your father says you're not taking his calls. And now this..." She gestured to the informality of the house, the books scattered on surfaces, the general disruption of the perfect order she'd helped establish.

In the past, Jungwon would have immediately adjusted his behavior to appease her. You braced yourself for his retreat back into the perfect son role.

Instead, he surprised you.

"Mother," he said calmly, "we're in the middle of some changes here. I should have called to tell you it's not a good time for a visit."

Her eyes widened. "Not a good time? Since when do I need an appointment to visit my own son's home?"

"Since now," Jungwon replied, his voice gentle but firm. "We're working on our marriage, and we need space to do that properly."

Mrs. Yang turned to you, expecting you to be the reasonable one, to smooth over this unprecedented friction. "Surely you understand that family obligations—"

"Are important," you finished for her, "but not more important than our relationship. Jungwon and I are learning to put each other first."

Her mouth opened and closed, momentarily speechless. "This is your influence," she finally said to you, her voice sharp. "My son has never been so disrespectful."

You felt Jungwon tense beside you, but before he could speak, you placed your hand on his arm. A silent communication—I've got this.

"It's not disrespect to establish healthy boundaries," you said, maintaining a respectful tone despite the accusation. "We both value you and Mr. Yang, but we're building something here that needs protection and care."

Mrs. Yang looked between the two of you, noting the united front, the way Jungwon stood slightly closer to you than necessary, the casual intimacy of your hand on his arm. Something in her calculation shifted.

"I see," she said finally. "Well. Call when you're ready to rejoin society. The foundation gala is in three weeks, and people will talk if you're absent."

"Let them talk," Jungwon said simply.

After she left, you turned to Jungwon, studying his face for signs of regret or anger. Instead, you found him looking almost relieved.

"That was the first time I've ever said no to her," he confessed with a shaky laugh. "It feels... terrifying. And right."

You squeezed his hand. "You were perfect."

"Not perfect," he corrected. "Real. There's a difference."

-

By the third week, physical barriers began to dissolve. Jungwon moved from the chaise to the bed, though always maintaining a careful distance. But one night, half-asleep and cold from the air conditioning, you instinctively shifted closer to his warmth. Without fully waking, he draped an arm over you, pulling you against him with a contented sigh.

You froze, suddenly wide awake, your heart racing at the casual intimacy. His breathing remained deep and even, clearly still asleep. Slowly, you relaxed into the embrace, allowing yourself to feel the solidity of him, the gentle rise and fall of his chest, the warmth that radiated through his thin t-shirt.

It was the first time you'd slept in each other's arms. In the morning, when you both woke to find yourselves entangled, there was a moment of awkward uncertainty before Jungwon smiled—a genuine, unguarded smile that transformed his face.

"Good morning," he said softly, making no move to pull away.

"Good morning," you replied, marveling at how natural it felt to be here, in this moment, with him.

That day, the staff noticed the shift between you—the lingering glances, the casual touches as you passed each other, the private smiles. The mansion seemed to exhale, as if the building itself had been holding its breath, waiting for life to finally fill its rooms.

-

A month after your return, Jungwon came to you with a proposal.

"I've been thinking about the house," he said over breakfast, which you now took together every morning before he left for work. His schedule had been completely reorganized, with strict boundaries between work and home time. "It's beautiful, but it's never felt like ours. It's been my family's vision of what our home should be."

You nodded, understanding immediately. "It's always felt like living in a museum."

"Exactly." He pushed a folder across the table. "What would you think about this?"

Inside were architectural plans for a new house—smaller, more intimate, designed around shared spaces and natural light.

"You want to move?" you asked, surprised.

"I want us to build something that belongs to us," he clarified. "Something that reflects who we are together, not who everyone expects us to be."

You studied the plans more carefully, noting the library with two desks facing each other, the open kitchen designed for cooking together, the master bedroom with windows that would catch the sunrise.

"There's room for a nursery," you observed quietly, looking up to gauge his reaction.

His eyes softened. "I thought... someday... if we decided..." He took a deep breath, steadying himself. "I want children with you. Not for the Yang legacy, but because I can't imagine anything more beautiful than creating a family with you. But only when we're ready. Only when our foundation is solid."

You reached across the table, taking his hand. "I'd like that. Someday."

He squeezed your fingers, a simple gesture that had become precious in its newfound ease. "So, the house?"

"Yes," you decided. "Let's build something that's truly ours."

-

Two months into your new beginning, you attended your first social event as a changed couple. The charity auction—ironically, the same type of event where you'd played your roles so convincingly before—now became the stage for your authentic selves.

When you entered on Jungwon's arm, the subtle changes were immediately apparent to the careful observers of high society. The way his hand rested at the small of your back—not for show, but because he liked the connection to you. How he kept you within his sight even during separate conversations. The private smiles you exchanged across the room, small moments of complicity in the public setting.

Mrs. Singh approached you during a lull in the evening. "There's something different about you two," she observed shrewdly. "You seem... happier."

You smiled, watching Jungwon across the room. He was engaged in conversation but looked up at that exact moment, as if sensing your gaze, and smiled back with undisguised affection.

"We are," you replied simply.

Later, when the dancing began, Jungwon led you to the floor. Unlike the choreographed movements you'd performed at countless events before, this time he held you closer, his cheek occasionally brushing against your temple, his hand warm and secure against yours.

"Everyone's watching us," you murmured, feeling the weight of curious eyes.

"Let them," he replied, his lips close to your ear. "Maybe they'll learn something."

The evening continued, but unlike before, you weren't simply playing a part. The genuine connection between you was unmistakable, and as the night progressed, you felt something shift in the atmosphere around you. The calculated social maneuvering gave way to something more genuine, as if your authenticity had granted others permission to drop their own facades, if only slightly.

When you returned home that night, the tension that had always accompanied these performances was absent. Instead, there was a shared sense of accomplishment, of having navigated the social waters together without losing yourselves in the process.

"That wasn't so bad," Jungwon admitted as you both prepared for bed. "Being real in public."

"It was actually nice," you agreed, sitting at your vanity to remove your jewelry. "Though I think your mother nearly fainted when you declined the board seat Mr. Lee offered."

Jungwon laughed, the sound still new enough to delight you. "The old me would have accepted immediately, even though we both know it would have meant even less time at home." He moved behind you, meeting your eyes in the mirror. "I have different priorities now."

He reached for the clasp of your necklace, his fingers brushing against your skin as he helped you remove it. The simple intimacy of the gesture—one that might have seemed ordinary in most marriages but was revolutionary in yours—made your breath catch.

When he finished, his hands remained on your shoulders, thumbs gently caressing the exposed skin above your dress. Your eyes met in the mirror, and the desire you saw there—no longer hidden or denied—sent heat cascading through you.

"May I kiss you?" he asked softly.

It wasn't your first kiss since the reconciliation—there had been gentle pecks, cautious explorations—but something about this moment felt different. More significant.

You turned to face him, rising from the vanity bench. "Yes."

He cupped your face with reverent hands, studying you as if committing every detail to memory, before leaning in slowly. The kiss began gentle but deepened as months of carefully banked desire kindled between you. His arms encircled your waist, drawing you closer until you could feel the rapid beating of his heart against yours.

When you finally separated, both breathless, Jungwon rested his forehead against yours. "I love you," he whispered, the words no longer strange or difficult but natural, necessary.

"I love you too," you replied, the truth of it filling every part of you.

That night, for the first time, you truly became husband and wife—not through social obligation or family expectation, but through choice. Through desire. Through love that had fought its way past barriers of conditioning and fear to find expression at last.

-

Six months after your confrontation, the new house was completed. It stood on a hillside overlooking the city, modern in design but warm in execution, with natural materials and spaces designed for living rather than showcasing wealth.

The move was symbolic in more ways than one—leaving behind the mansion with its rigid expectations and cold perfection, stepping into a home created specifically for the life you were building together.

On your first night there, after the movers had gone and the essentials were unpacked, Jungwon opened a bottle of champagne, pouring two glasses as you both stood in the expansive living room, floor-to-ceiling windows revealing the city lights spread below.

"To new beginnings," he said, raising his glass.

"To us," you added, clinking your glass against his.

After you both drank, he set his glass aside and reached for your hand, his expression turning serious.

"I want to ask you something," he said, leading you to the sofa. When you were both seated, he took both your hands in his. "This past year—these six months especially—have been the most transformative of my life. I feel like I'm finally becoming the person I was meant to be, not the perfect heir my father designed."

You squeezed his hands encouragingly. "I'm proud of you. The changes you've made, the boundaries you've set—none of it has been easy."

"It's been worth it," he said simply. "And I want to keep growing, keep becoming better. With you." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small velvet box. "Which is why I want to ask you to marry me. Again. For real this time."

He opened the box to reveal a ring nothing like the elaborate diamond he'd given you during your engagement. This one was simpler, more personal—a band of intertwined gold and platinum with a small sapphire that matched the color of your favorite flowers.

"Our first marriage was arranged for us," he continued. "I want this one to be chosen by us. No families planning, no strategic alliances, just two people who love each other deciding to build a life together."

Tears filled your eyes, but unlike the lonely tears you'd shed in that first year, these were born of joy, of wonder at how far you'd both come.

"Yes," you whispered, watching as he slipped the ring onto your finger, alongside the formal engagement diamond you still wore. The contrast between them—one chosen for appearance, one chosen for meaning—perfectly symbolized your journey.

"I thought we could have a small ceremony," Jungwon said, pulling you close. "Just us and a few people who truly care about our happiness. On that Greek island you've been reading about."

You laughed through your tears. "Your mother would never forgive us."

"She'll survive," he said with a smile. "This isn't about the Yang family or social connections or business advantages. It's about you and me, choosing each other. Every day. For the rest of our lives."

As you kissed to seal this new promise, you marveled at the journey that had brought you here—from empty performance to authentic partnership, from silent longing to expressed love, from arranged marriage to chosen commitment.

The road hadn't been smooth. There had been setbacks, moments when old patterns threatened to reassert themselves. There would be more challenges ahead, more work to maintain the vulnerability and honesty you'd fought so hard to establish.

But looking into Jungwon's eyes—eyes that now held nothing back from you—you knew with absolute certainty that the difficult path was worth it. That true connection, once found, was worth fighting for. That love, real love, could grow even from the most barren beginnings, if only given the chance to breathe.

-

The most shocking transformation in your renewed marriage wasn’t the tenderness.

It was the hunger.

Jungwon, who used to sleep with a polite space between your bodies, now touched you like he couldn’t bear even a millimeter of distance.

The man who once bowed his head before kissing your hand now dropped to his knees and begged to taste you.

It was as if years of restraint had finally snapped—like some tight, internal knot had come undone—and he was feral from the release.

The first night you truly became intimate, you realized just how much he’d been suppressing.

His hands, once always tucked in his lap, now gripped your thighs like a lifeline, dragged you down onto the sheets with a growl. He shook when he touched you, but not from nerves—from sheer fucking relief.

His mouth, which had always only spoken in formal tones and quiet dinner conversation, now whispered against your skin—

“I’ve dreamed of spreading your legs and living between them.”

You gasped. He kissed lower. His breath hot between your thighs.

“Every night beside you, pretending I didn’t hear how you breathed heavier when I got too close. I wanted to fuck you so bad I used to take cold showers just to stop myself from humping the fucking mattress.”

You were already soaked, trembling.

You cupped his face, forced him to look up. “You don’t have to hold back anymore.”

His pupils were blown wide. He licked his lips, nodding.

“I don’t think I could if I tried.”

He broke.

He devoured your pussy like it owed him rent. Like it was his first and last meal.

No teasing. No patience. Just his tongue, buried deep, moaning into you like your taste was the only thing that ever made him lose his composure.

You came once on his mouth—fast and loud—and he didn’t even let up.

“Again,” he groaned, “fuck, again, I want to feel you fall apart.”

And when he finally hovered over you, flushed and trembling and naked between your legs?

“Tell me,” he whispered, cock dragging through your soaked folds, “tell me what you want. What you’ve been aching for. Let me ruin you the way I’ve dreamed about.”

So you did.

You told him all of it. The fantasies. The positions. The filthy little things you’d only ever written down in notebook margins when he was still cold and distant.

And Jungwon?

Did. Not. Flinch.

He nodded, breath shaking, and said—

“You want to be face down? Crying? Begging? I’ll give it to you. Just know when I start, I won’t stop until you’re fucked stupid.”

And he meant it.

He took you face down on the mattress, hips locked in place by his grip, his cock slamming into you so deep you saw stars. He growled things you’d never imagined him saying—

“This pussy’s mine. All fucking mine. You think I don’t know how wet you get when I talk like this?”

“Look at you—slutty little wife, dripping down your thighs like you’ve been waiting to be treated like a whore.”

“How many times you make yourself cum thinking about me breaking like this, huh?”

You choked on your moans. You were sobbing by the time he made you cum again, legs shaking, jaw slack, vision blurry.

He kissed your spine afterward. Slowly. Tenderly. Like he hadn’t just rearranged your insides.

Pulled you into his arms and whispered, “I used to leave the room when I got too hard just looking at you. I thought wanting you like this made me weak. My father always said a Yang man should control his urges.”

He paused. Smiled against your neck.

“I’ve never been so happy to disappoint him.”

-

In the weeks that followed your first night together, the shift between you became impossible to ignore. And impossible to contain.

Jungwon couldn’t stop touching you.

He didn’t even try. His hand found yours under the breakfast table.

His palm slid across your lower back when you walked past him in the hallway—lingering there, possessive.

He stole kisses while you were brushing your teeth, while you answered the door, while you loaded the washing machine.

It was as if his body was always reaching, always chasing, making up for a year of self-denial all at once.

You gave in to him every time.

One afternoon, he came home early from the office to find you kneeling in the garden, soil smudged on your knees, digging holes for the last peony bush you’d saved from the mansion.

You didn’t hear him approach.

But you felt it—the change in the air. The heat behind you. The sound of breath catching.

Hands on your waist. A sharp inhale. And a low, devastating voice.

“That’s what I come home to?”

You turned your head, startled—and then flushed under the weight of his gaze.

He was already unbuttoning his sleeves.

Already breathing too hard.

“Jungwon—”

He hauled you to your feet. Didn’t flinch at the dirt. Didn’t care about the sunlight.

Just gripped your waist, pulled you close, and kissed you like you’d been killing him in his dreams. You gasped against his mouth, hands braced on his chest, heart pounding.

“What was that for?”

His eyes were black with need. He didn’t let you go.

“Because I can,” he said. “Because I spent a year not touching you. Not letting myself want you. Not letting myself want to bend you over every surface in our house.”

You trembled.

He pulled you closer.

“I refuse to waste another fucking day.”

The peonies were forgotten.

He dragged you inside, dirt on your hands, sweat beading on your spine—and kissed you again against the door.

His jacket hit the floor first. Then yours.

Then his belt, as he backed you into the living room like a man possessed.

When your knees hit the rug, he dropped with you.

Didn’t even bother removing your clothes properly—just shoved your dress up and pulled your underwear down like it offended him.

“Here,” he growled, palming your ass as he pressed you forward onto all fours. “Here on the floor, where I can see every inch of you. Where I can fuck you raw and you can scream for me.”

You moaned, breath hitched.

“God, I wanted to do this the first night I married you. I wanted to wreck you. I wanted to see what sounds you’d make with my cock in you.”

You were dripping by the time he pushed inside.

No teasing. No patience. Just one smooth thrust that made you cry out, already clenching.

“So fucking tight,” he hissed. “So wet and hot and mine.”

He fucked you hard, fast, hips slapping against your ass as your moans echoed through the empty house.

You didn’t care. You let him take everything.

He gripped your hips, pulled you back onto him harder, chasing your high like he’d been dying for it. You came shaking on him, and he groaned, low and broken, before following with a curse buried into your shoulder.

You collapsed to the rug in a tangled heap, both of you breathless, glowing in the afternoon sun. Later, still half-naked, your cheek resting on the rug, he lay beside you—head on your stomach, smiling like a teenager.

“My father would be appalled,” he murmured. “The Yang heir behaving like this. Desperate. Loud. Fucking his wife on the floor.”

You laughed, running your fingers through his sweat-damp hair.

“And what do you think?”

He tilted his head. Kissed your bare hip, then lower.

Then smiled.

“I think we should do it again in the kitchen.”

A pause.

“Then the stairs. Then the study. Then maybe the floor again.”

You didn’t even get a chance to answer. Because his hand was already sliding between your legs again.

-

What amazed you most was his attentiveness. Jungwon, who had once seemed completely disconnected from physical needs, now anticipated yours with an almost uncanny perception. He noticed when tension gathered in your shoulders and appeared with warm hands to massage it away. He registered which touches made your breath catch and revisited them with deliberate intent. He cataloged every sensitive spot, every preference, every response with the same meticulous attention he'd once reserved for business reports.

"How did you know?" you asked one evening when he drew you a bath exactly when you needed it, complete with the lavender oil you preferred when tired.

"Your left eyebrow tenses slightly when you're exhausted," he explained, kneeling beside the tub to wash your back with gentle hands. "And you roll your shoulders every few minutes. Plus, you've been on your feet all day with the interior decorator."

The fact that he noticed such small details—that he paid such close attention to your physical comfort—moved you deeply. This wasn't just passion; it was care, consideration, genuine desire for your wellbeing.

One night, as you lay tangled together in the afterglow of particularly intense lovemaking, Jungwon traced patterns on your back with his fingertips, his expression thoughtful.

"I used to think that needing someone physically was a weakness," he confessed. "That it gave them power over you. My father warned me about it—how desire could cloud judgment, make a man vulnerable."

"And now?" you prompted, propping yourself up to look at him.

A slow smile spread across his face, transforming his features in a way that still took your breath away. "Now I think vulnerability is its own kind of strength. The courage to need someone, to show them exactly how much you want them..." He pulled you closer, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "I've never felt stronger than when I'm completely undone in your arms."

-

The physical transformation in your marriage rippled outward, affecting every aspect of your lives together. Jungwon, once rigid in his schedules and plans, now embraced spontaneity. He would cancel meetings to spend the day in bed with you, laughing as you expressed shock at his newfound willingness to prioritize pleasure over work.

"The company won't collapse if I take a day off," he said, pulling you back under the covers when you suggested he shouldn't neglect his responsibilities. "And this—" he kissed you deeply "—is a responsibility too. To us. To what we're building."

Even in public, the change was evident to anyone with eyes to see. Though still mindful of appropriate boundaries, Jungwon couldn't seem to stop himself from small touches—his hand at the small of your back, his fingers laced with yours, the way he would occasionally lean down to whisper something in your ear that made heat rise to your cheeks.

At a corporate gala, Mrs. Yang cornered you by the refreshment table, her eyes narrowed in disapproval. "Your husband's behavior has become rather... demonstrative lately," she observed acidly. "It's unseemly for a man of his position to be so openly affectionate."

You smiled, watching Jungwon across the room as he spoke with investors. Even engaged in business conversation, his eyes sought you out regularly, as if making sure you were still there, still his.

"I disagree," you replied calmly. "I think it shows remarkable strength for a man to be secure enough in himself to express his feelings openly."

Your mother-in-law's lips thinned, but before she could respond, Jungwon appeared at your side, his hand automatically finding yours.

"Mother," he greeted her with polite warmth. "I see you've found my wife. I hope you'll excuse us—this is our song."

There was no song playing that held any special meaning, but Mrs. Yang couldn't know that. With a small bow, Jungwon led you to the dance floor, pulling you closer than was strictly proper for such a formal event.

"Rescued you," he murmured against your ear, his breath sending delicious shivers down your spine.

"My hero," you teased, relaxing into his embrace. "Though your mother might never recover from the shock of seeing the Yang heir so besotted with his own wife."

"Let her adjust," he replied, his hand splayed possessively against your lower back. "This is who I am now. Who we are together."

Later that night, he touched you like he’d been holding it in all day—like the hours of careful, public restraint had coiled inside him, pressing tight under his skin, begging for release.

Now, with you spread beneath him in your shared bed, every breath he took seemed heavy with need.

His thrusts were deep, deliberate, dragging moans from your throat with each slow roll of his hips.

He didn’t rush. He didn’t look away. He studied you.

His dark eyes locked onto yours, watching every flicker of expression, every twitch, every gasp, like he wanted to memorize the exact second you shattered.

“What are you thinking?” he asked, voice low, tight, lips brushing the corner of your mouth.

You blinked up at him, dazed, overwhelmed. “That I hardly recognize you sometimes.”

His rhythm stuttered—hips faltering, jaw tensing.

His brows drew together. “Is that… disappointing?”

You couldn’t help the breathless laugh that escaped you. You wrapped your legs tighter around his waist and pulled him closer, arching up to meet him.

“No. Quite the opposite.”

Your fingers slid into his hair, your voice thick with wonder and arousal.

“I’m amazed that all of this—”

Your hands trailed down his chest, to where your bodies met, to the heat and slick and stretch between your legs,

“—was hidden inside that perfect, restrained man.”

Relief washed over his face, followed by a crooked, mischievous smile—so at odds with the version of him you’d once known that it sent a fresh wave of heat crashing through you.

“I have years of self-control to make up for,” he said, lowering his mouth to your throat, his voice a warm rasp against your skin. “You don’t think I’ve imagined this? Every night. Every day. Watching you walk around like you didn’t know how badly I wanted to fuck you into the mattress?”

You whimpered, breath catching.

“You think I didn’t notice how soft your thighs looked in those dresses? Or how your voice changed when you said my name?”

His tongue flicked over a sensitive spot just below your ear, and your back arched without thinking.

“I used to jerk off in the shower,” he whispered, filthy now, “biting my lip so you wouldn’t hear. Palming my cock like a coward while I imagined you moaning for me just like this.”

You gasped as he pinned your wrists above your head, not rough, just firm—controlling, possessive. His other hand slid between your bodies, fingers circling your clit with devastating precision.

“You’re mine now,” he said against your collarbone. “I don’t have to hide it anymore. Don’t have to pretend I don’t want you crying and shaking under me every night.”

The need in his voice made your toes curl.

“I don’t think anyone could be prepared for this version of you,” you managed to gasp, hips bucking as his thumb pressed harder.

He chuckled darkly. “Good. I like catching you off guard.”

Then his lips ghosted over your pulse, and he murmured:

“I like knowing no one else gets to see you like this. Just me. The mess. The begging. The way you moan when I hit you right there.”

His hips snapped, and your whole body trembled.

“I like owning this version of you. The version that melts under me. That asks for more even when I’m already inside.”

The sheer possessiveness in his voice—raw and reverent—nearly undid you.

Your whole body clenched, eyes wide, breath gone. “Only you,” you whispered, completely wrecked. “Always you.”

He kissed you then. Deep. Unrelenting.

And when you came again, shaking apart in his arms, you knew:

You’d never seen the real Jungwon before this.

Afterward, as you drifted toward sleep in his arms, you reflected on the journey that had brought you here. From polite strangers sharing a bed without touching, to lovers who couldn't bear even the smallest distance between them. From a marriage of appearance to a union of body, heart, and soul.

Jungwon's arm tightened around you, even in his sleep unwilling to let you go. The man who had once feared needing someone now embraced that need without reservation, transforming what he'd been taught was weakness into his greatest strength.

As you snuggled closer to his warmth, you silently thanked whatever courage had prompted you to finally break the silence between you, to demand more than the empty performance your marriage had been. The risk had been terrifying, but the reward—this man who loved you without restraint, who showed that love in every look and touch and whispered word—was beyond anything you could have imagined.

Epilogue: Aegean Dreams

The light breeze carried the scent of salt and wild herbs through the open French doors of your villa, perched on the cliffs of Santorini. Dawn had just begun to paint the horizon in shades of gold and rose, the Aegean Sea below reflecting the spectacle like a mirror. You stood on the private terrace, wrapped in a silk robe, drinking in the view that had once been nothing more than a wistful note in a travel book margin.

Warm arms encircled you from behind, and Jungwon's lips found the curve where your neck met your shoulder.

"I woke up and you were gone," he murmured against your skin. "For a second, I panicked."

You turned in his embrace, reaching up to brush a strand of hair from his face. No product kept it in place here—just like no tailored suits or carefully crafted personas had made the journey to this small Greek paradise.

"Just wanted to see the sunrise," you explained, smiling at the vulnerability he no longer tried to hide. "Old habits. Though I'm not used to you noticing when I slip out of bed."

"I notice everything about you now," he said, tightening his hold. "Especially when your warmth disappears from beside me."

Two years had passed since that fateful anniversary night when everything had broken open between you. Two years of learning each other, rebuilding trust, discovering what it meant to truly choose one another every day. The small, intimate wedding you'd held on this very island six months ago had merely formalized what your hearts had already decided.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Jungwon asked, noticing your contemplative expression.

"I was just thinking about that travel book," you said, leaning into him. "The one where I marked all those Greek islands, never believing I'd actually see them."

"And now you've seen five of them in three weeks," he replied with a smile. "With three more to go before we have to think about heading back."

The itinerary for this trip had been deliberately open-ended—a luxury neither of you had ever permitted yourselves before. No business calls, no social obligations, not even a fixed return date. Just the two of you moving at your own pace through the islands you'd dreamed of.

"Remember that cove I mentioned in my notes?" you asked, a mischievous glint in your eye. "The one where 'no one would expect Mrs. Yang to swim naked'?"

"How could I forget?" Jungwon's voice dropped lower, his hands sliding down to your waist. "It's circled on the map in our bedroom. I've been wondering when you'd bring it up."

"The boat captain said he could take us there this afternoon. Completely private, accessible only by sea."

His eyes darkened with desire—a look that still thrilled you, even after months of uninhibited passion. "I'll tell him we'll double his fee if he drops us off and doesn't return until sunset."

You laughed, stretching up to kiss him. "Always the efficient businessman."

"Only when efficiency serves pleasure," he countered, deepening the kiss until you were both breathless.

When you finally pulled apart, the sun had fully crested the horizon, bathing the white-washed villa in golden light. Jungwon led you to the small table on the terrace where he'd already set up breakfast—fresh fruit, local yogurt, honey, and coffee prepared exactly the way you liked it.

"I have something for you," he said, reaching into the pocket of his linen pants as you both sat down.

He placed a small package wrapped in simple brown paper on the table between you. His expression held an endearing mix of anticipation and nervousness that reminded you how far he'd come from the controlled, emotionless man you'd married.

"What's this for?" you asked, picking up the package. "It's not my birthday or our anniversary."

"Do I need a reason to give my wife a gift?" he countered with a smile. "Open it."

You carefully unwrapped the paper to find a leather-bound journal, its cover soft and supple. When you opened it, you discovered it was filled with poems—some typed, others handwritten in Jungwon's precise script.

"I've been collecting them," he explained, watching your face closely. "Every poem that made me think of you. The ones that helped me understand what I was feeling when I didn't have the words myself."

You turned the pages, eyes widening as you recognized some of the poems you'd once secretly marked in your books, now preserved in this new collection. But there were others you didn't recognize—contemporary pieces, older classics, even what appeared to be original works.

"Did you... write some of these?" you asked, looking up in surprise.

A flush crept up his neck—the unguarded reaction still so different from the controlled man he'd once been. "I tried. They're probably terrible, but..." He shrugged, a gesture of vulnerability that would have been unthinkable in the old Jungwon. "I wanted to find a way to tell you what you mean to me that wasn't borrowed from someone else's words."

You found one of his original poems, dated from the early days of your reconciliation:

I lived behind walls so high

Even I forgot what lay inside

Until your voice broke through

And light flooded places

I had kept dark for so long

I had forgotten they could shine

Tears pricked your eyes as you continued reading. The progression of the poems—from hesitant early attempts to more recent, confident expressions—mirrored the journey of your relationship.

"This is the most beautiful gift anyone has ever given me," you said finally, closing the journal and holding it against your heart.

"There's one more thing," Jungwon said, reaching across the table to take your hand. "I've been thinking about what you said last week, about not being ready to go back to real life yet."

"I was just being silly," you assured him, though the thought of returning to schedules and obligations did fill you with a certain dread. "We can't stay on vacation forever."

"Why not?" He smiled at your startled expression. "Not forever, but... longer. I've been working on something." He pulled out his phone—rarely used during the trip except for taking photos—and showed you a property listing. "It's a small villa on Paros. Nothing extravagant, but it has a garden for you and a study for me with a decent internet connection."

"You want to buy a house here?" you asked, stunned.

"I want us to have a place that's just ours. Not tied to the Yang name or business or social expectations." His eyes held yours, serious despite his smile. "A place where we can come whenever we need to breathe. Where no one expects anything from us except being ourselves."

"But your work—"

"Can be managed remotely for extended periods," he interrupted gently. "I've been talking with the board about restructuring my role. Less day-to-day management, more strategic direction. It would mean fewer hours, more flexibility."

You stared at him, processing the magnitude of what he was suggesting. The old Jungwon would never have considered stepping back from his corporate responsibilities, would never have prioritized personal happiness over professional ambition.

"What about your father?" you asked, knowing that Mr. Yang would view such a move as a betrayal of family duty.

"He'll adapt," Jungwon said with surprising calm. "Or he won't. Either way, I'm not living my life to meet his expectations anymore." He squeezed your hand. "What do you think? Not about him—about the villa."

You looked out at the endless blue of the Aegean, then back at the man who had transformed himself for love of you—who continued to transform, to grow, to choose your shared happiness over prescribed obligation.

"I think," you said slowly, a smile spreading across your face, "that I'd like to plant bougainvillea along that terrace wall in the photos."

His answering smile was radiant. "Is that a yes?"

Instead of answering with words, you stood and moved around the table, settling onto his lap. His arms came around you automatically, holding you as if you were the most precious thing in his world—which, you knew now, you were.

"It's a 'you make me happier than I ever thought possible,'" you said, framing his face with your hands. "It's a 'I love the life we're building together.'"

"Even if it scandalizes my mother?" he asked, laughter in his eyes.

"Especially then," you replied, leaning in to kiss him as the Greek sun climbed higher in the sky, warming your skin, illuminating the future stretching before you—unplanned, unprescribed, and gloriously your own.

Behind you, the pages of the poetry journal fluttered in the sea breeze, open to the last entry, written in Jungwon's hand just days before:

Once I thought perfection meant control

Now I know it's the moment you laugh

Head thrown back, eyes dancing

Completely unguarded in my arms

The sound of your happiness echoing

Through rooms once filled with silence

This is the music I want to hear

For all my remaining days

fin.

-

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Nobody : Sim card?

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FULL ILLUSTRATIONS OF 2024 JUJUTSU KAISEN SEASON 2: HIDDEN INVENTORY ARC/PREMATURE DEATH ARC CAFE ⭐

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